- 


THE 


RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 


on, 


MY    DUTY. 

H**  e 


Pupil.   What  shall  I  do  to  be  forever  known  ? 
Tutor.  Thy  duly  ever. 

Pupil.  This  did  full  many  who  yet  sleep  unknown. 
Tutor.  O,  never,  never '. 

Think'i-t  thou  percnanre  that  they  remain  unknown, 

\Vhom  thou  know 'at  not  ? 

By  angel  trumps  in  heaven  their  praise  is  blown, 

Divine  their  lot. 


BOSTON: 

J.    E.    TILTON    AND    COMPANY. 
1860. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1859,  by 

J.    E.    T1I,TOX    AND   COMPANY, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


University  Press,  Cambridge  : 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co. 


THE 

RECTORY  OF  MORELAND. 


CHAPTER    I. 

"  Thou  sendcst  thousand  blessings  from  on  high, 
Who  dost  Thy  servant  through  deep  waters  lend ; 
The  tender  heart,  the  careful  hand,  the  eye 

That  watches  :ill  my  need." 

WILLIAMS. 

«  mHE  PRAYERS  of  the  congregation  are  desired 
1  for  a  sick  j>erson."  Uy  this  announcement,  the 
congregation  of  St.  James's  Church,  in  the  village  of 
^Ion-hind,  was  startled,  one  bright  Christmas  morning. 
It  was  such  a  day  as  we  would  wish  Christmas  always  to 
be.  The  clear,  cold  air  gave  a  glow  of  health  to  every 
moving  thing.  Each  tree,  shrub,  mid  spire  of  grass 
bristli-d  with  a  silvery  frost-work.  A  few  hours'  rain 
the  previous  night,  upon  the  ni'\v-fallrn  snow,  had  ren- 
the  travelling  smooth  and  slippery,  and  the  peal 
1 


2  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 

of  the  merry  sleigh-bells  mingled  with  the  chime  from 
the  church  tower.  The  church  was  built  in  a  sweet, 
secluded  spot,  retired  from  the  main  street  of  the  vil- 
lage. Here  the  fir,  the  pine,  and  the  box  together  con- 
tinually beautified  the  place  of  His  sanctuary.  Those 
who  were  there  assembled  this  beautiful  Christmas 
morning,  although  neighbors  and  friends,  were  (as  we 
have  said)  startled  by  the  announcement  from  the  cler- 
gyman, "The  prayers  of  the  congregation  are  desired 
for  a  sick  person." 

At  the  close  of  the  services,  while  the  congregation 
were  retiring,  Miss  Maynard  waited  at  the  vestry, 
where  she  learned  from  Rev.  Mr.  Marshall  that  Mrs. 
Evans  had  been  attacked  during  the  night  with  a  violent 
illness,  and  would  not  probably  survive  the  day. 

"  What  will  become  of  her  children  ?  " 

This  question  rose  spontaneously  to  the  lips  of  the 
group  •  of  matrons  and  maidens,  who  waited  Miss  May- 
nard's  report. 

Mrs.  Evans,  or,  as  she  was  called  in  village  parlance, 
"  Widow  Evans,"  was  the  widow  of  an  Episcopal  clergy- 
man. Her  husband,  though  not  a  man  of  brilliant  talents, 
or  particularly  attractive  as  a  preacher,  was  a  faithful, 


OE    MY    DUTY.  3 

God-serving  pastor.  His  life,  like  that  of  the  majority 
of  clergymen  unblest  with  shining  parts,  although  filled 
with  the  love  of  God  and  man,  was  always  a  life  of 
struggling  poverty.  At  his  death,  he  left  his  widow  free 
from  debt,  with  the  inheritance  of  his  good  name,  four 
children,  and  a  broken-hearted  mother.  The  god-parents 
of  the  little  ones,  some  by  pecuniary  assistance  to  the 
mother,  and  all  by  a  helping  hand  and  sympathizing  tear, 
lightened  the  otherwise  overwhelming  burden.  Mrs. 
Evans  declined  parting  with  any  of  her  children,  although 
homes  were  offered ;  she  knew  she  had  energy,  industry, 
and  ingenuity,  and  might  she  not,  with  her  trust  in  the 
'  God  of  the  widow,'  be  enabled  to  keep  the  family  to- 
gether? It  was  a  serious  question  in  her  mind,  whether 
she  should  continue  to  reside  in  the  large  town  where 
her  husband  had  ministered,  or  seek  a  less  expensive 
home  in  a  countiy  village.  A  few  days  after  her  hus- 
band's death,  she  had  received  a  letter  from  Rev.  Mr. 
Marshall,  Avhom  we  have  before  introduced  to  our  readers 
as  Rector  of  St.  James's,  Moreland.  He  had  been  a 
classmate  of  Mr.  Evans,  and  knew  his  worth  and  wants. 
Having  represented  the  case  to  a  wealthy  landholder,  a 
warden  of  his  parish,  lie  had  procured  for  Mrs.  Evans, 


4  THE    RECTORY    OP    MORELAND: 

« 

if  she  chose  to  accept,  a  cottage  with  a  few  acres  of  land 
rent  free,  with  an  employment  for  herself  which  would 
enable  her  to  live  comfortably.  To  the  simple,  trusting 
heart  of  the  widow,  this  was  without  doubt  an  answer  to 
her  constant  prayer  for  guidance.  Here,  when  our  story 
opens,  she  had  lived  seven  years  ;  here,  about  five  months 
after  her  removal  from  town,  she  had  given  birth  to  her 
youngest  son,  and  from  this  sweet  spot,  to  which  she 
had  early  given  the  name  of  Spring  Cottage,  she  had 
followed  to  the  silent  churchyard  her  mother,  and  two 
of  those  little  ones  for  whose  life  and  comfort  she  so 
willingly  toiled. 


OR    MY    DUTY. 


CHAPTER    II. 

"  She  wanders  to  the  spirit-land, 
And  we,  with  speechless  grief  opprest, 
As  o'er  the  faded  form  we  stand, 
Would  gladly  share  her  place  of  rest." 

"TTTHAT  !  GOING  out  again,  —  before  dinner 
f  T  too  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Marshall  to  her  husband,  as  she 
saw  him,  after  one  half-hour's  rest  since  the  morning 
service  on  Christmas  day,  making  preparations  for  a  win- 
ter's walk. 

"  Yes,  Ellen,  I  must  go  again  to  Mrs.  Evans.  It  is 
her  desire  to  receive  the  Holy  Communion,  and  I  fear 
to  defer  it  lest  it  be  too  late.  I  wish  you  could  go  with 
me ;  sister  Josephine  will  look  after  the  children  for  an 
hour  or  two." 

"  Sister  Josephine  "  did  not  look  amiable  at  this  propo- 
sition, and  the  wife  declined,  excusing  herself  by  the 
length  of  the  walk. 


6  THE    BECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 

The  Rectory  was  near  the  church,  and  on  the  other 
side  of  the  village  from  Spring  Cottage,  the  home  of  Mrs. 
Evans.  The  clergyman  chose  a  by-path  this  day ;  he 
would  not  pass  through  the  main  street,  for  his  soul  was 
filled  with  high  and  holy  thoughts,  and  he  sought  retire- 
ment. His  mind  went  back  to  the  days  of  his  early 
manhood,  his  struggles  for  an  education,  his  life-long 
desire  to  be  a  clergyman. 

Then  before  his  mind's  eye  rose  his  classmate,  Evans, 
endeared  to  him  by  many  associations ;  he  had  gone  to 
his  reward,  and  Mr.  Marshall  thanked  God  that  he  had 
permitted  him  to  minister  to  the  wants  of  his  widow  and 
children. 

Then  came  before  his  memory  his  own  solemn  vows. 
How  had  he  discharged  them  ? 

Many  sore  trials  and  temptations  he  recalled,  much 
of  bitter  that  was  mingled  with  his  every-day  cup ;  but 
amid  all  his  failings  and  faltering.*,  he  could  still  see 
through  the  labyrinth  of  his  life  a  thread  of  light  held 
and  guided  by  a  hand  of  love. 

He  sighed  deeply,  as  he  put  back  the  long,  leafless, 
straggling  branches  of  the  woodbine  that  hung  over  the 
porch  at  Spring  Cottage.  Entering  noiselessly  the 


OB    MY    DUTY.  7 

little  parlor,  and  hearing  no  sound  but  the  disturbed 
breathing  of  the  sufferer,  he  passed  into  the  inner  room, 
and,  finding  the  sick  person  conscious  and  waiting  for 
him,  proceeded  at  once  to  the  Office  for  the  Visitation 
of  the  Sick.  "  Peace  be  to  this  house,  and  to  all  that 
dwell  in  it ! "  Comforting  were  these  words  to  the  heart 
of  the  lone  widow. 

"  Our  mother  the  Church  hath  never  a  child, 

To  honor  before  the  rest ; 
But  she  singeth  the  same  for  mighty  kings, 
And  the  veriest  babe  on  her  breast." 

Mary  Evans  knelt  by  her  dying  mother,  and  her 
sobs  mingled  with  the  faint  responses  of  the  widow. 
Before  the  solemn  Communion  service,  Mr.  Marshall 
received  her  last  wishes  from  the  lips  of  Mrs.  Evans,  and 
promised  to  have  a  pastor's  care  for  the  three  orphans. 
When  all  was  concluded,  he  gently  drew  Mary  from  the 
room,  and  talked  with  her  so  kindly  of  her  coming  trial, 
pointing  to  the  only  source  of  comfort,  bringing  to  her 
mind  the  sweet  solace  there  is  in  the  "  communion  of 
saints,"  and  telling  her  of  her  mother's  Christian  faith  in 
leaving  her  orphaned  children  confidingly  in  the  care  of 
"the  Father  of  the  fatherless,"  that  Mary  felt  that  it 


8  THE    RECTORY    OP    MOREL\ND: 

was  selfish  in  her  to  disturb  her  mother's  perfect  trust 
by  her  own  agonizing  grief,  and  promised  better  to  con- 
trol at  least  her  expressions  of  sorrow. 

Mary  Evans  had  reached  her  seventeenth  year.  As 
the  eldest  child,  she  had  known  many  of  the  sorrows  of 
her  mother,  and  had  mourned  with  her;  consequently 
her  character  had  a  maturity  seldom  found  in  girls  of 
her  age.  She  had  a  warm,  impulsive  heart ;  but  her 
judgment,  disciplined  by  early  grief,  had  taught  her  to 
conceal  her  feelings,  and  this  outbreak  of  emotion  by  her 
mother's  bedside  was  the  more  violent  for  having  been 
the  first  since  her  parent's  illness. 

Mary  returned  to  the  sick-room,  with  a  calm,  sad  coun- 
tenance. A  change  had  come  over  the  departing  saint, 
and  a  few  hours  at  furthest  must  close  her  earthly  pil- 
grimage. Her  last  prayer  was  granted,  and  she  retained 
her  consciousness.  Having  given  her  dying  counsel  and 
blessing  to  her  younger  children,  she  took  Mary's  hand 
in  hers,  and  drawing  from  her  own  finger  the  ring  that 
had  been  placed  there  in  marriage,  and  putting  it  on 
Mary's  forefinger,  said,  "  My  darling  daughter,  I  have 
not  much  thought  for  the  future  of  my  children's  life ; 
I  leave  them  with  the  God  of  the  fatherless.  And," 


OB    MY    DUTY.  9 

she  added,  pressing  the  ring,  "when  you  look  at  this, 
remember  all  that  is  required  of  you  is  to  do  your  ditty 
in  that  state  of  life  into  which  it  shall  please  God  to 
call  you ! "  Her  voice  faltered,  but  recovering  a  little, 
and  pointing  upward,  she  whispered,  "  Grace  '  you  must 
call  for  by  diligent  prayer.'  " 

A  few  low,  short  breathings,  and  her  soul  peacefully 
departed. 


10  THE    RECTORY    OP    MORELAND: 


CHAPTER    III. 

"  Who  should  it  be?  where  shouldst  tliou  look  for  kindness? 
When  we  are  sick,  where  can  we  turn  for  succor? 
When  we  arc  wretched,  where  can  we  complain? 
And  when  the  world  looks  cold  and  surly  on  us, 
Where  can  we  go  to  meet  a  warmer  eye 
With  such  sure  confidence  as  to  a  mother?" 

JOANNA  BAILUE. 

IN  SOOTHING  the  grief  of  her  sister  and  brother, 
and  in  attending  to  the  necessary  duties  of  the  house- 
hold, Mary  found  a  partial  relief  from  the  load  of  sorrow 
that  was  pressing  upon  her  young  heart.  Ralph  must  be 
quieted:  his  grief  was  violent;  indeed,  he  was  quite 
angry  that  his  mother  should  leave  him.  Grace,  a  deli- 
cate, yielding  child,  ceased  her  intense  sobbing  when 
Mary  told  her  of  God's  will,  and  the  duty  of  submission, 
and  presented  all  the  arguments  that  first  suggest  them- 
selves, and  which  the  elder  sister  was  trying,  without 
much  success,  to  believe  and  feel  for  herself. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  11 

The  children  had  returned  to  the  cottage  after  the 
funeral  rites,  that  most  desolate  of  all  times  to  the  be- 
reaved heart,  when  home  seems  so  utterly  forsaken,  and 
everything  is  freshly  connected  with  the  departed.  Ralph 
had  sobhed  himself  to  sleep  on  his  mother's  bed,  while 
Mary  and  Grace  were  mingling  their  tears  in  silence, 
when  Mr.  Marshall  entered,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Lee. 
Grace  sprang  forward,  and,  throwing  herself  into  Mr. 
Marshall's  arms,  renewed  the  violent  weeping  for  which 
her  sister  had  before  reproved  her.  Mary  neither  rose 
nor  spoke ;  but  Mr.  Marshall,  taking  a  seat  by  her  side, 
said  kindly :  "  My  daughter,  we  have  come  to  tell  you 
our  plans.  Squire  Lee  intends  to  adopt  his  god-son 
Ralph  as  his  own.  The  Squire's  daughters  are  so  much 
older  than  Ralph,  that  he  will  be  a  little  pet  for  them ; 
and  for  yourself  and  Grace,  I  intend  you  shall  live  with 
me  at  the  Rectory.  How  do  you  like  our  plans  ?  " 

At  the  sound  of  the  words  "My  daughter,"  Mary's 
heart,  almost  chilled  by  the  greatness  of  her  grief,  warmed 
toward  her  father's  friend,  and  she  exclaimed :  "  My  dear 
pastor,  mother  said  you  would  care  for  us,  but  this  is  too 
much.  No,  it  must  not  be ;  I  can  try  to  earn  a  living  for 
myself,  at  least." 


12  THE    EECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 

"I  will  go  and  live  with  you,  and  call  you  father," 
said  little  Grace,  putting  back  her  curls,  and  kissing  the 
cheek  against  which  she  had  rested.  "  Do  go  with  me, 
sister  Mary,  for  I  cannot  bear  to  leave  you  here  alone  " ; 
and  she  looked  around  the  room  with  a  shudder,  and 
hid  her  face  again. 

"  Yes,  Mary,  I  shall  call  for  you  in  the  morning,"  said 
Mr.  Marshall.  "  Do  you  think  you  could  persuade  Ralph 
to  go  with  Squire  Lee  to-night?" 

None  knew  the  deep  anguish  in  Mary's  heart!  To 
give  Ralph  away,  —  her  darling  Ralph,  for  whom  she 
had  cared  from  his  earliest  infancy,  and  who  under  her 
care,  from  a  weak  and  puny  infant,  had  become  a  sturdy, 
robust  boy  of  seven  years !  Who  would  soothe  his  out- 
bursts of  gi-ief  ?  Who  would  bear  with  his  outbreaking 
temper,  and  teach  him  self-control  ?  She  knew  Squire 
Lee  was  a  noble-hearted  Clmstian  man,  but  it  needed  a 
woman's  gentle  nature  to  win  Ralph's  affections,  and  of 
Mrs.  Lee  she  knew  almost  nothing. 

She  did  not  trust  herself  to  speak  to  him,  but  passed 
him  to  Squire  Lee,  who  had  already  seated  himself  in 
the  sleigh.  "  You  and  Grace  must  come  and  see  Ralph 
often,"  said  the  Squire,  as  he  took  up  the  reins.  Mary 


OR    MY    DUTY.  13 

did  not  even  thank  him,  and  it  troubled  her  afterward, 
in  her  self-examination,  to  find  how  apparently  ungrate- 
ful she  Avas  that  Ralph  had  a  home.  She  stood  hesitat- 
ing after  she  had  closed  the  outer  door,  considering  in 
her  own  mind  how  she  should  best  refuse  the  kind  offer 
of  a  home  for  herself.  Acceptance  she  thought  quite 
out  of  the  question. 

She  was  interrupted  in  her  meditations  by  Mr.  Mar- 
shall, who,  coming  quietly  toward  her  and  taking  her 
hand,  said,  in  a  very  decided  tone  :  "  I  Avill  come  for  you 
and  Grace  in  the  morning.  I  expect  you  to  try  my  home 
awhile,  Mary,  and  if  Providence  should  open  a  way  in 
which,  you  can  better  yourself,  I  shall  feel  it  my  duty 
and  pleasure  to  assist  you." 

She  saw  the  mild,  decided  expression  of  his  face,  and 
knew  it  was  her  duty  to  submit  to  him,  her  spiritual 
guide,  in  temporal  matters  also.  Mr.  Marshall  saw  that 
his  purpose  was  gained,  and,  leading  her  into  the  room, 
he  commended  the  two  children  to  their  father's  God, 
and  went  to  his  own  home. 


14  THE    RECTORY    OP    MORELAND: 


CHAPTER    IV. 

"  One  fatal  remembrance,  one  sorrow  that  throws 
Its  bleak  shade  alike  o'er  our  joys  and  our  woes. 

0  this  thought  in  the  midst  of  enjoyment  will  stny, 

Like  a  dead,  leafless  branch  in  the  sunshine's  bright  ray." 

THE  RECTORY,  the  home  of  Rev.  Mr.  Marshall 
and  family,  was  situated  near  the  church,  and  .over- 
shadowed by  the  outstretched  arms  of  two  immense  oaks, 
the  growth  of  centuries.  The  house  was  originally  built 
by  a  gentleman  who  had  sought  the  retirement  of  the 
country  for  ease  and  quietness.  At  his  death,  it  was  pur- 
chased by  the  parish  of  St.  James,  although  the  church 
at  that  time  was  on  the  village  green.  When  the  new 
stone  church  was  proposed,  it  fortunately  happened  that 
there  was  near  the  Rectory  a  knoll  covered  with  a  fine 
growth  of  young  pines  and  hemlocks.  This  grove  was 
purchased,  and  in  its  lovely  precincts  rose  the  hallowed 
walls  of  the  church,  and  under  the  perpetual  shadow  of 
the  pines  were  many  newly  made  graves. 


OE    MY    DUTY.  15 

But  we  have  wandered  from  the  Kectory  to  the  church ; 
aii-J  indeed  one  can  hardly  think  of  the  one,  without  be- 
holding the  shadow  of  the  other.  The  house  stood  at  a 
little  distance  from  the  road :  its  low  piazza  and  the  lux- 
uriant shrubbery  and  vines  about  it  gave  it  a  home-like, 
comfortable  air.  llev.  Mr.  Marshall  was  one  of  nature's 
noblemen.  With  genius  and  talents  that  would  have 
adorned  any  profession,  he  had  chosen  the  self-denying 
life  of  a  country  clergyman.  It  was  for  the  pure  love  of 
the  work  that  he  had  entered  that  sacred  office.  Had 
he  been  a  worldly  man,  his  name  would  have  been 
heralded  forth  into  all  parts  of  the  land ;  but  he  had 
early  quelled  that  ambition  which  seeks  the  praise  of 
men,  to  engage  heart  and  hand  in  his  duties. 

He  had  made,  in  his  early  manhood,  one  mistake,  one 
which  is  often  a  lifelong  cause  of  sorrow  and  suffering 
with  many  of  his  brother  clergymen.  He  had  engaged 
himself  in  marriage  before  he  finished  his  collegiate 
course.  Attracted  by  her  almost  faultless  beauty,  and 
her  quiet  ways,  he  had  wooed  Ellen  Maurice ;  but  as 
his  holy  ambition  aspired  to  higher  attainments,  and  his 
intellect  advanced  to  maturity,  he  awoke  to  the  desire  for 
a  companion.  He  was  not  married.  Should  he  break 


16  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 

0| 

the  engagement,  or  should  he  fulfil  it?  The  struggle 
was  great  in  that  young  Christian  heart,  but  his  con- 
scienee  would  not  tell  him  he  might  be  free.  lie  knew 
that  she  loved  him  with  all  the  devotion  of  which  her 
nature  was  capable,  and  a  breach  of  faith  on  his  part 
Avould  make  her  life  unhappy,  and  cast  a  stain  on  his 
name  as  a  Christian  minister.  The  marriage  was  con- 
summated, and  Ellen  Maurice  never  knew  but  her  hus- 
band's heart  was  wholly  hers.  And  so  indeed  it  was,  so 
far  as  others  Avere  concerned,  for  his  affections  m-vrr 
wandered  after  vain  hopes ;  but  gradually  he  subdued 
that  longing  for  union  and  sympathy  which  every  true 
heart  seeks  in  marriage,  and  gave  the  wealth  of  his 
affections  entirely  to  the  Church.  He  had  now  borne  the 
yoke  of  matrimony  ten  years,  and  his  neck  had  become 
somewhat  fitted  to  the  burden ;  but  the  gray  liairs  that 
mingled  with  his  dark  locks,  the  firm,  compressed  lip,  and 
an  air  of  abstraction,  especially  at  home,  told  that  he  had 
been  a  sufferer.  Even  now  he  had  frequently  to  brace 
himself  to  read  that  passage,  when  it  occurred  in  the 
proper  Lessons,  "Husbands,  love  your  wives,  «-v<-n  ;i> 
Christ  loved  the  Church."  There  was  much  that  \\.i> 
lovely  in  Ellen.  She  had  great  maternal  affection,  \\iih 


OR    MY    DUTY.  17 

respect  and  admiration  for  her  husband.  She  was  thrifty 
and  neat  in  the  management  of  her  house,  but  in  the 
government  and  instruction  of  her  little  ones  there  was 
a  want  that  came  over  the  heart  of  Mr.  Marshall,  day 
by  day.  The  little  girls  were  growing  up;  Alice,  the 
eldest,  had  reached  her  seventh  year;  Minnie  and  Isa- 
belle  were  four  and  five  ;  and  who  was  to  teach  them 
self-discipline  or  self-culture,  of  which  the  mother  knew 
nothing  ? 

During  the  last  year,  Mr.  Marshall's  father  had  died, 
and  his  orphaned  sister  had  come  to  his  home.  He  had 
but  little  knowledge  of  her  character,  for  she  was  but  a 
child  when  he  left  his  father's  house.  She  was  now 
a  bright,  wayward,  petted,  saucy  girl  of  nineteen,  with 
much  personal  beauty,  and  a  full  consciousness  of  her 
charms.  There  was  much  unsubdued  wilfulness  in  her 
pouting  lip,  and  it  often  required  sternness  on  the  part 
of  her  brother  to  keep  Josephine  in  her  proper  place. 
She  had  now  been  several  months  in  the  family,  and  Mr. 
Marshall  thought  he  could  perceive  visible  signs  of  im- 
provement. Indeed,  she  had  become  less  overbearing 
and  selfish,  after  a  severe  reprimand  from  her  brother 
for  a  slighting  remark  she  had  made  on  "  Sister  Ellen's 
2* 


18  THE    BECTOBY     OF    MOKELANDI 

ways."  He  requested  her  presence  in  the  study,  and 
there,  in  a  manly  and  Christian  manner,  begged  her  to 
remember,  that,  so  long  as  she  was  an  inmate  of  his 
family,  she  must  treat  lu's  wife  with  the  respect  which 
was  her  due.  Josephine  was  fairly  frightened  by  his 
cold,  stern  manner,  and  repented  that  she  had  roused  him. 

Mr.  Marshall  entered  his  house,  after  leaving  the  home 
of  the  orphan  children,  just  as  the  candles  were  lighted, 
and  the  cloth  spread  for  the  evening  meal.  As  he 
crossed  the  threshold,  the  noisy  tones  of  the  children  in 
high  dispute  reached  his  ear,  the  voice  of  the  mother 
endeavoring  in  vain  to  quell  the  disturbance,  and  over 
all,  the  angry  tones  of  his  sister  Josephine,  as  she  said, 
"  "Well,  I  am  thankful,  here  comes  your  father ;  now  we 
shall  have  a  little  quiet."  The  words  acted  like  a  charm ; 
all  was  hushed  in  an  instant. 

Mr.  Marshall  drew  a  deep  sigh,  and  was  tempted  to 
flee  to  his  refuge,  the  study.  But  a  nobler  feeling  pre- 
vailed, and  he  entered  the  room  where  the  family  were 
assembled.  The  little  girls  were  shy  at  first,  feeling 
that  they  had  done  wrong ;  but  in  a  moment  they  were 
about  their  father,  rubbing  his  cold  hands,  and  pressing 
their  warm,  glowing  cheeks  to  his  lips.  The  traces 


OR    MY    DUTY.  19 

of  tears  were  on  Alice's  face,  and  Minnie's  brow  had  not 
lost  its  shadow,  but  their  father  made  no  reference  to  the 
cause. 

"  Ellen,  my  wife,  what  do  you  think  of  an  addition  of 
two  to  our  family  ?  I  have  asked  Mary  and  Grace 
Evans  to  come  to  us  for  a  while."  Mi's.  Marshall  looked 
up  wonderingly,  while  the  cliildrcn  could  not  at  once 
take  in  what  their  father  meant. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  plan,  Ellen  ?  " 

"  Why,  Herbert,"  replied  Mrs.  Marshall  in  an  indifferent 
tone,  "  if  you  can  afford  it,  I  ought  to  make  no  objections. 
Mary  is  a  good  sort  of  a  girl,  and  will,  I  dare  say,  help 
about  the  children,  and  take  care  of  her  sister.  I  have 
heard  Grace  is  a  nervous  little  thing." 

Mr.  Marshall  looked  disappointed. 

"  How  old  is  Mary  ?  "  said  Josephine,  who  was  longing 
to  express  her  wonder  at  her  brother's  imprudence,  but 
did  not  venture. 

"  She  is  in  her  seventeenth  year,"  said  Mr.  Marshall. 

"  Goodness  !  she  looks  fifty,  I  'm  sure,  with  her  demure 
face  and  stiff  airs !  She  will  be  but  stupid  company,  I 
fear." 

"  I  wish  some  of  her  elders  had  more  of  her  dignity 


20  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 

and  sobriety,"  replied  Mr.  Marshall,  quietly.  "  Children, 
how  do  you  like  the  plan?"  he  added,  turning  to  his 
little  ones,  who  had  clambered  to  his  knee,  and  were 
playing  with  liis  hair. 

"Will  I  have  to  give  Grace  my  doll,  papa?"  said 
Alice. 

"  I  doubt  if  she  will  want  your  doll,"  said  he,  gravely. 
tt  God  has  taken  from  her  both  her  dear  father  and 
mother.  She  is  very  sad  and  lonely,  and  would  have  come 
with  me  to-night,  only  I  persuaded  her  to  wait  for  her 
sister.  Will  you  not  love  her,  my  little  daughters,  and 
try  to  make  her  happy  here?  She  has  a  very  tender 
little  heart,  and  I  want  you  to  be  careful  how  you  bruise 
it.  Josephine,  you  may  be  a  help  to  Mary  in  many 
things,  and  in  some  matters  she  can  teacli  you." 

"  They  are  very  destitute,  are  they  not  ? "  said  Mrs. 
Marshall,  in  an  anxious  tone.  "  I  heard  Mrs.  Lee  say 
she  wondered  what  supported  them  wliile  their  mother 
was  living." 

"  Ellen,  you  might  have  told  Mrs.  Lee  that  it  was 
industry  and  trust  in  God  that  supported  them.  But  I 
hope  no  allusions  of  the  most  remote  kind  may  ever  be 
made  in  my  family  to  their  poverty." 


OR    MY    DUTY.  21 

This  remark  was  made  with  that  stern,  decided  voice 
and  manner  that  expressed  most  fully  the  expectation 
of  obedience.  Mrs.  Marshall  and  Josephine  both  felt 
that  it  was  intended  for  them;  for,  among  other  weak- 
nesses, Mrs.  Marshall  displayed  a  disposition  to  "  court 
the  rich,"  which  was  foreign  to  the  nature  of  her  hus- 
band. 


22  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND : 


CHAPTER  Y. 

"  There 's  a  cool,  collected  look, 
As  if  her  pulses  beat  by  book, 
A  measured  tone,  a  cold  reply, 
A  management  of  voice  and  eye, 
A  calm,  possessed,  authentic  air, 
That  leaves  a  doubt  of  softness  there." 

WILLIS. 

EESIDENCE  of  James  Lee,  Esq.,  or  Squire 
Lee,  as  he  was  invariably  called,  was  a  large,  old- 
fashioned  mansion,  modernized  here  and  there  by  the 
addition  of  wings,  bay-windows,  piazzas,  hexagon  rooms, 
etc.,  which  improvements  were  the  result  of  Mrs.  Lee's 
endeavors;  for  the  Squire,  good-natured  soul,  never  in- 
terfered in  any  of  her  plans  of  this  sort.  The  entrance 
gates  were  on  the  main  street  of  the  village,  although 
the  house  stood  retired  from  the  road  in  the  midst  of  an 
extensive  lawn,  adorned  with  trees  and  shrubbery,  and 
watered  by  a  rapid  brook.  The  interior  of  the  house 


OR    MY    DUTY.  23 

was  furnished  with  taste,  and  with  here  and  there  a  slight 
display  of  ostentation. 

Mrs.  Lee  was,  as  every  one  said,  a  fine-looking  wo- 
man. Stately  in  her  bearing  and  proportions,  she  moved 
like  a  queen.  Her  features  were  pointed  and  small, 
too  small  for  beauty,  and  each  and  every  one  of  them 
bore  the  stamp  of  selfish  worldliness.  She  was  not 
particularly  intellectual,  and  yet  sufficiently  so  to  pass 
in  society.  She  prided  herself  on  her  family,  her  fortune, 
and  her  daughters.  Her  eldest  daughter,  Virginia,  like 
herself,  satisfied  her ;  but  Jeanette  gave  her  some  trouble, 
by  not  coming  as  readily  into  her  worldly  maxims  as 
her  elder  sister. 

Mrs.  Lee  and  her  daughters,  sitting  at  their  sewing 
and-,embroidery,  waited  the  return  of  Squire  Lee  with 
Ealph.  The  matter  under  discussion  between  the  ladies 
must  have  been  an  exciting  one,  judging  from  the  very 
slight  flush,  and  the  little  hasty  movement  with  which 
Mrs.  Lee  laid  by  her  sewing,  and  Avent  to  the  window, 
saying,  as  she  raised  the  heavy  curtain,  and  looked  out 
into  the  entrance  avenue,  "  Yes,  this  is  the  strangest 
notion  I  ever  knew  your  father  to  take  up ;  and  I  must 
say,  Mr.  Marshall's  influence  has  had  more  weight 
with  him  than  my  wishes." 


24  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 

"  Why,  mamma,"  said  Virginia,  in  &  tone  of  authority 
and  self-confidence  ill  becoming  a  girl  of  twenty,  • —  "  why 
should  you  wonder  at  this  ?  It  is  but  another  proof  of 
the  deep  interest  papa  has  ever  taken  in  everything 
belonging  to  Widow  Evans.  I  remember,  although  I  was 
but  a  child,  when  the  widow  first  came  into  town  ;  such 
running  to  the  railroad  station,  to  convey  her  goods  to 
the  cottage,  and  such  interest  in  hearing  from  them ! 
And  then  came  the  baby,  this  Ralph,  and  Mr.  ^Marshall 
persuading  papa  to  stand  godfather  to  the  boy ;  and 
then  followed  a  violent  intimacy  between  Mary  and 
my  loving  sister  Jeannie ;  for  I  believe  Jeannie  thinks 
Mary  more  of  a  saint  than  any  of  her  own  family." 

The  latter  part  of  this  speech  brought  the  color  into 
Jeanette's  face,  who  had  been  deeply  interested  in  the 
conversation,  although  apparently  engaged  with  her  em- 
broidery. "Jeanette  is  but  a  child,"  said  Mrs.  Lee, 
making  an  effort  to  keep  back  something  she  had  in- 
tended to  say,  "  and  I  am  sure  will  learn  to  choose  the 
friends  of  her  life  more  judiciously  than  she  has  those 
of  her  childhood." 

The  blood  mounted  higher  into  Jeanette's  forehead, 
and  among  the  sunny  braids  of  her  hair.  She  could  re- 


OB    MY    DUTY.  25 

strain  herself  no  longer,  but,  rushing  into  a  full  defence  of 
her  dear  friend  Mary,  imprudently  declared  that  Mary 
Evans  had  done  more  for  her  than  all  the  rest  of  her 
friends ;  and  finally  ended  by  leaving  the  room,  in  obedi- 
ence to  the  commands  of  her  mother,  for  her  impertinence. 

"Jeanette  is  growing  up  very  impulsive,"  said  Mrs. 
Lee.  "  I  sometimes  think  boarding-school  discipline  might 
benefit  her." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Virginia,  in  that  same  cold  tone  of 
sarcasm  that  had  before  so  moved  her  mother,  "  it  would 
be  well  to  put  her  under  the  care  of  our  reverend  rector. 
I  hear  he  intends  taking  Mary  and  Grace  Evans  into 
his  family,  probably  for  instruction." 

"Mr.  Marshall  intend  burdening  himself  Avith  the 
support  of  those  two  girls  !  Virginia,  where  could  you 
have  picked  up  such  an  idea  ?  " 

"From  no  less  a  personage  than  himself.  I  heard 
him  in  the  library  yesterday,  telling  papa  his  whole 
plan ;  and  what  a  paragon  of  perfection  he  thought  Mary 
Evans,  —  so  pious,  so  devout,  so  lady-like,  and  so  what 
all  I  cannot  tell !  On  the  Avhole,  mamma,  it  Avould  be 
hardly  Avise  to  break  up  this  intimacy  between  Jeanette 
and  this  Avonderful  creature ;  she  might  have  a  leavening 
effect  on  the  Avhole  family." 


26     THE  RECTORY  OP  HOMELAND: 

"  But  poor  Mrs.  Marshall ! "  said  Mrs.  Lee ;  "  what 
•will  she  do,  inefficient  as  she  already  is,  and  unfitted 
for  the  management  of  a  family  ?  I  do  think  Mr.  Mar- 
shall strangely  inconsiderate  to  impose  this  additional 
burden  upon  his  poor  wife." 

"  O  mamma,  you  need  not  waste  pity  upon  her.  She 
is  just  one  of  those  individuals  that  have  the  credit  of  bear- 
ing everything,  when  in  reality  they  bear  nothing.  All  her 
responsibilities  are  thrown  upon  somebody  else  ;  and  this 
pink  of  perfection  that  is  about  to  be  transplanted  to  the 
Rectory  garden  will  probably  be  the  queen  of  flowers 
there,  and  eventually  rule  the  affairs  of  the  parish." 

"  O  nonsense,  Virginia  !  She  is  but  a  girl  of  seven- 
teen, has  been  in  no  society,  and  had  no  advantages  —  " 

"But  you  forget,  mamma,"  said  Virginia,  impatiently 
interrupting  her  mother,  with  that  same  ironical  tone, 
"  she  is  Widow  Evans's  daughter,  than  whom  I  have  often 
heard  papa  say  he  knew  no  woman  better  calculated  to 
bring  up  daughters.  But  I  hear  the  sleigh-bells,"  she 
added  lightly,  as  she  observed  how  very  deep  the  crim- 
son dyed  her  mother's  neck  and  face,  — "  now  we  are  to 
be  introduced  to  my  brother  Ralph." 

Master  Ralph  was  soon  in  the  room  where  the  ladies 
were  sitting. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  27 

u  Here,  mother,  here  is  a  boy  for  you,  and  a  brother 
for  you,  Virginia,"  said  Squire  Lee,  in  his  good-natured, 
hearty  tone,  — "  and  a  fine,  manly  lad  he  is  too.  But 
where  is  Jeanette,  that  she  does  not  come  to  welcome 
her  brother  ?  " 

"  I  have  sent  her  to  her  room  for  impertinence,"  said 
Mrs.  Lee,  coldly. 

A  shadow  passed  over  the  brow  of  her  husband,  but 
Virginia,  who  was  willing  to  please  her  father  when  it 
required  not  too  much  trouble,  had  drawn  Ralph  to  her 
side,  and  given  him  her  watch-chain  and  seals  to  play 
with.  The  boy  took  no  notice  of  the  trinkets,  but  his 
gaze  was  intently  fixed  on  an  engraving  hanging  on  the 
wall  near  him. 

"  Do  you  like  pictures  ?  "  said  Virginia,  in  the  kindest 
tones  she  could  assume. 

"  I  like  angels,"  said  the  boy,  unhesitatingly,  "  because 
my  mamma  said  they  were  by  us  all  the  time,  and 
helped  us  to  be  good.  Do  they  help  you  to  be  good  ?  " 
he  said,  looking  up  into  Virginia's  cold,  handsome  face 
with  his  keen  black  eye. 

Virginia  condescended  no  reply  to  the  child;  and 
Squire  Lee,  perceiving  that  the  remark  had  not  been  a 


28  THE    RECTORY    OP    MORELAND: 

fortunate  one,  took  the  boy  on  his  knee,  and  endeavored 
to  divert  his  thoughts.  But  his  eye  still  rested  on  the 
picture. 

"  Are  those  all  angels  ?  "  he  said  at  length,  addressing 
his  adopted  father. 

"  No,  my  son,  that  is  a  picture  of  the  Blessed  Virgin 
and  her  Child.  But  those  little  figures,  looking  up  near 
the  lower  part  of  the  picture,  are  angels." 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  well  to  enlighten  him  as  to 
whom  the  Blessed  Virgin  was,"  said  Virginia,  in  her  own 
tones. 

"  He  was  conceived  by  the  Holy  Ghost,  born  of  the 
Virgin  Mary,"  said  Ralph,  reverentially,  as  if  replying  to 
himself. 

"  Well  taught,  I  perceive  ! "  said  Virginia,  with  a  sneer, 
and  a  look  towards  her  mother. 

Mr.  Lee  rose  and  rang  the  bell.  Giving  Ralph  into 
the  hands  of  the  servant,  who  answered  the  summons, 
'he  resumed  his  seat.  He  was,  as  has  been  said,  a  good- 
natured,  easy  man,  but  withal  a  man  of  firm  principle; 
and  although  slow  to  move,  and  reluctant  to  command,  he 
could  do  it  if  occasion  demanded.  He  poked  flic  fin-, 
arranged  and  rearranged  his  cravat,  paced  the  room  for- 


OR    MY    DUTY.  29 

ward  and  backward  many  times,  and  then,  abruptly  turn- 
ing round  in  front  of  Mrs.  Lee  and  Virginia,  he  said : 
"  I  have  adopted  this  boy.  I  consider  him  my  son, 
wherever  he  is.  I  shall  provide  for  him  as  my  son.  I 
should  like  to  keep  him  in  my  own  family :  it  would  be 
both  pleasanter  and  less  expensive  than  to  put  him  into 
any  boarding-school  I  should  wish  my  boy  to  attend  ; 
but  I  cannot  keep  him  here,  unless  he  is  treated  as  a  son 
of  mine  should  be." 

The  Squire  knew  his  Avife's  weak  point.  She  was  a 
fashionable  woman,  but  a  strict  economist,  and  any  plan 
involving  extra  expense  was  sure  to  frighten  her.  She 
came  down  at  once  (when  her  husband  had  finished  his 
speech)  from  the  icy  niche  in  which  she  had  sheltered 
herself,  and  said,  condescendingly :  "  Why,  certainly,  Mr. 
Lee,  if  you  really  mean  to  adopt  the  boy  as  our  own,  I 
must  try  to  be  a  mother  to  him.  Would  you  like  to 
have  him  occupy  the  room  off  our  dressing-room  ?  " 

The  matter  of  a  sleeping  apartment  was  soon  arranged, 
and  before  many  hours  the  tired  boy  was  safely  en- 
sconced therein. 


30  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORCLAND: 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  The  trivial  round,  the  common  task, 
Would  furnish  all  we  ought  to  ask; 
Room  to  deny  ourselves,  a  road 
To  bring  us  daily  nearer  God."  —  KEBLE. 

"  The  rarer  action 
Is  in  virtue,  not  in  vengeance." 

THE  DAYS  and  weeks  of  the  winter  glided  more 
rapidly  than  Mary  had  supposed  possible,  when  she 
stood  by  the  open  grave  of  her  mother.  To  her  at  that 
moment,  although  so  young,  life  seemed  a  long  and  weary 
road,  and  the  end  thereof  the  only  thing  to  be  desired. 
But  duty  had  ever  been,  since  she  could  remember, 
something  she  must  do,  and  therefore  she  went  about 
her  daily  toils  at  first  with  a  sad,  absent  air ;  but  perse- 
verance in  self-government,  gratitude  to  Mr.  Mar-hall 
and  his  wife  for  their  kindness  in  giving  her  a  home, 
and,  above  all,  an  abiding  sense  of  the  nearness  of  the 


OB    MY    DUTY.  31 

Heavenly  Comforter,  brought  back  cheerful  looks  and 
tones. 

Her  trials  and  vexations  were  many.  Nearly  the 
entire  care  of  the  children  was  given  up  to  her  by  Mrs. 
Marshall ;  and  although  the  father's  conscience  often  told 
him  this  ought  not  so  to  be,  he  could  not  but  feel  happy 
in  observing  the  marked  change  in  their  manners,  the 
result  of  Mary's  firm,  mild  influence. 

She  instructed  them  two  hours  each  day,  while  she 
and  Josephine  had  their  daily  recitations  with  Mr.  Mar- 
shall. She  had  much  to  bear  from  the  imperious  tem- 
per of  Josephine,  and  this  was  a  new  trial  to  her. 

Mary  Avas  naturally  proud-spirited,  and,  although  hum- 
bled and  subdued  by  Divine  grace,  the  hints  Josephine 
occasionally  gave  about  her  dependent  situation  would 
sometimes  excite  her  indignation,  and  extort  a  haughty 
reply.  Then  would  follow  days  of  bitter  repentance, 
and  she  would  try  to  win  the  affection  of  Josephine  by 
unexpected  acts  of  kindness.  This  course  of  conduct 
was  not  understood  by  her  companion.  How  could  it 
be  by  one  who  knew  nothing  of  self-discipline  ?  It  was 
indeed  often  looked  upon  by  her  as  cringing  meanness. 
It  happened  that  Josephine  one  morning  repeated 


32      THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

in  Mary's  hearing  something  Virginia  Lee  had  xml 
about  "  her  father's  adopting  Ralph  out  of  a  low  family," 
to  which  Mrs.  Marshall  replied,  inconsiderately,  "  Well, 
Josephine,  it  was  very  kind  of  Squire  Lee,  and  Ralph 
will  be  better  off  than  his  sisters,  for  they  cannot  always 
expect  to  live  without  doing  anything  for  their  own 
support." 

Mary,  irritated  by  the  tone  and  manner,  as  well  as  by 
the  words,  had  replied  keenly  and  bitterly.  Mrs.  Mar- 
shall had  retorted.  Anger  and  remorse  struggled  in 
Mary's  bosom  for  mastery,  when  the  bell  rang  which 
summoned  the  girls  to  the  study  for  their  recitations. 
Mafy's  lessons  were  imperfect,  and  she  felt  a  sense  of 
suffocation  while  repeating  the  little  she  could  remember. 
Her  face  was  very  pale,  except  a  round  crimson  spot 
on  each  cheek.  Several  tunes  she  was  on  the  point  of 
bursting  into  tears  as  she  met  the  glance  of  her  pastor's 
eye,  from  which  she,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  turned 
away.  Josephine,  on  the  contrary,  was  more  ligl  it- 
hearted  than  usual,  and  there  was  a  bravado  in  her 
manner,  that  concealed  any  remnant  of  feeling  that 
might  be  in  her  bosom. 

As  they  were  leaving  the   room,  Mr.  Marshall  re- 


OB    MY    DUTY.  33 

called  Mary,  to  repeat  something  he  had  said  about  the 
lesson.  She  looked  out  of  the  window,  and  listened 
with  an  air  of  indifference  quite  new  to  her  teacher. 
He  closed  the  study  door,  and  taking  Mary  by  the  hand, 
he  said,  very  gravely,  "Mary,  my  daughter,  will  you 
not  tell  me  what  has  happened  to  disturb  you  ?  " 

Kindness  melted  her  at  once,  and  she  could  not  speak 
for  weeping. 

"  Mary,"  continued  Mr.  Marshall,  and  his  countenance 
flushed  for  a  moment,  "has  anything  occurred  in  my 
family  to  cause  you  this  distress  ?  " 

"  O  no,  no ! "  she  said  hastily,  checking  her  sobs,  "  the 
anguish  comes  from  within" 

Mr.  Marshall  was  more  and  more  puzzled.  After 
waiting  a  long  time,  he  said :  "  Mary,  I  feel  that  I  have 
a  right,  as  your  spiritual  pastor  as  well  as  your  adopted 
father,  to  know  anything  that  causes  you  so  much  suffer- 
ing." 

"Oh!"  said  she,  bitterly,  "it  is  envy,  hatred,  and  malice. 
I  have  felt  hatred  towards  Virginia  Lee,  and  —  "  She 
stopped ;  —  if  she  said  Josephine,  she  must  say  Mrs.  Mar- 
shall ;  for  she  felt  that  the  deepest  sting  was  planted 
by  her  want  of  feeling.  "  No,"  she  added,  "  it  is  all  my 


34  THE    RECTORY    OP    MORELAND! 

» 

ungoverned  temper  and  foolish  pride,  that  cannot  bear 
dependence  for  myself  nor  for  those  I  love." 

"  Hatred,  malice,  and  pride,  Mary  ? "  said  Mr.  Mar- 
shall. "Do  you  remember  that  you  are  called  next 
Sunday  to  the  Holy  Communion  ?  " 

"  I  must  not  go,"  said  Mary,  quickly. 

"  But,  my  daughter,  you  will  need  more  than  ever  to 
go.  Get  your  hat,  and  walk  with  me  into  the  church- 
yard." 

She  obeyed  mechanically.  They  went  out  into  the 
sunshine.  It  was  one  of  those  warm  days  that  some- 
times smile  upon  the  world  in  the  bleak  month  of  March. 
The  snow-wreaths  were  gone,  except  here  and  there 
under  the  cold,  gray  walls.  The  birds  were  singing 
their  earliest  songs,  and  everything  in  nature  sang.  Mr. 
Marshall  and  Mary  passed  quickly  through  the  church- 
yard gate,  and  instinctively  took  the  path  leading  to  the 
grave  of  Mrs.  Evans.  A  long  while  they  stood  by  the 
mound  in  silence. 

Mary's  tears  were  flowing  fast,  but  there  was  no 
violence  in  her  grief. 

"  Mary,"  said  Mr.  Marshall,  "  do  you  bear  envy,  ha- 
tred, or  malice  now  ?  " 


OB    MY    DUTY.  35 

"  O  no ! "  she  replied  as  she  leaned  over  the  headstone, 
"it  is  all  gone  now, — all  but  sorrow,  deep  sorrow  for 
my  own  sinfulness." 

"  Then  welcome  to  the  Lord's  table,  my  daughter, 
and  find  in  the  pledges  of  Christ's  love  strength  for  time 
to  come." 

They  returned  to  the  house ;  Mary  to  resume  her 
duties,  and  by  unusual  kindness  to  do  away  the  im- 
pression her  burst  of  passion  had  produced ;  and,  on 
further  self-examination,  to  acknowledge  both  to  Mrs. 
Marshall  and  Josephine  that  she  had  done  Avrong. 

Mr.  Marshall  returned  to  his  study  with  an  undefined 
feeling  of  uneasiness ;  and  when  afterward  he  gathered 
further  particulars  from  his  wife,  and  knew  how  deep 
was  Mary's  desire  for  a  situation  where  she  might  earn 
her  living,  he  felt  that  it  would  be  best  for  her  to  make 
an  effort  for  her  own  support,  should  a  suitable  oppor- 
tunity offer.  He  respected  the  feeling  that  actuated  her, 
and  resolved  to  look  about,  to  see  what  could  be  done  to 
assist  her.  In  the  mean  time,  while  Mary  was  under 
mental  and  spiritual  guidance,  Ralph  was  subject  to  lit- 
tle or  no  discipline.  From  being  an  object  of  distrust, 
he  had  become  the  pet  of  the  whole  family,  not  excepting 


36  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 

| 

Virginia,  who  managed  to  make  him  useful  in  a  variety 
of  ways.  Mrs.  Lee  was  already  proud  of  him,  he  was 
so  pretty  and  interesting,  and  she  took  to  herself  the 
whole  merit  of  his  introduction  into  the  family.  There 
was  only  one  circumstance  now  attendant  on  his  being 
there  that  troubled  her,  and  that  was  the  firm  determi- 
nation of  Squire  Lee  (put  up  to  it,  Virginia  said,  by  the 
Rector)  that  Ralph  should  see  his  sisters  every  week. 
This  duty  the  Squire  accomplished  himself,  by  taking 
Ralph  to  the  Rectory  every  Saturday,  accompanied  gen- 
erally by  Jeanette.  These  were  very  liappy  moments  to 
Mary.  Having  learned  from  many  sources  that  Mrs. 
Lee  looked  upon  hers  as  a  "low  family,"  Mary  would 
not  intrude  herself  on  that  lady.  Grace  was  almost  wild 
with  delight  when  Ralph  could  be  her  companion  with 
Alice  in  their  games,  and  the  unsuspecting  child  often 
wondered  why  Mary  would  not  let  her  sometimes  go  to 
see  Ralph,  when  Squire  Lee  urged  her,  or  Josephine 
offered  to  take  her  in  her  visits  to  Virginia. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  37 


CHAPTER    VII. 

"The  fringed  curtains  of  thine  eye  advance,  and  say 
What  seest  thou  yonder?  " 

"  What  are  spirits  ?  light  indeed  and  gay, 
They  are  like  winter  flowers,  nor  last  a  day ; 
Comes  a  rude,  icy  wind,  they  feel  and  fade  away." 

CHABBE. 

ANEW  INHABITANT  had  been  added  to  the 
family  at  "the  Mansion  House,"  as  Squire  Lee's 
home  was  called  by  the  villagers,  in  the  person  of  a  dis- 
tant relative  of  Mrs.  Lee, — a  young,  gay  fellow,  who  had 
been  "  honorably  discharged  "  from  one  of  our  colleges,  for 
being  one  of  a  score  of  young  men  engaged  in  some  kind 
of  disturbance.  Arthur  Grey  was  not  a  young  man  of 
vicious  principles,  or  bad  habits  generally,  and  had  only 
been  caught  in  this  school-boy  folly  by  his  exuberant  love 
of  fun.  He  was  a  favorite  with  Mrs.  Lee,  having  spent 
most  of  his  boyhood  in  her  family ;  consequently,  when 
4 


38  THE    RECTORY    OP    MORELAND: 

he  found  himself  in  disgrace,  he  applied  at  once  to  be 
received  into  her  household,  till  the  term  of  his  suspen- 
sion should  expire.  His  parents  resided  in  the  far  South, 
and  he  most  earnestly  begged  his  "  cousin,"  as  he  always 
called  Mrs.  Lee,  if  possible,  to  keep  from  them  the  news 
of  his  suspension.  He  was  a  young  man  of  fine  address 
and  handsome  expectations,  and  Mrs.  Lee  had  no  ob- 
jection to  him  as  an  inmate  of  her  family.  He  was 
not  a  young  man  of  idle  habits,  and  being  ashamed  of 
the  conduct  that  had  occasioned  his  dismissal,  and  deter- 
mined if  possible  to  regain  the  good-will  of  his  instructors, 
he  had  resolved  to  study  diligently  during  his  absence 
from  college,  that  he  might  be  prepared  to  enter  a  higher 
class.  Accordingly,  as  soon  as  he  was  domesticated  at 
the  Mansion  House,  he  mentioned  to  Squire  Lee,  in  a 
frank,  manly  way,  his  resolution  to  devote  himself  to 
study.  The  Squire,  who  highly  approved  of  the  men.- u  re, 
recommended  him  to  go  at  once  to  the  Rector  of  the  par- 
ish, and  study  with  him.  And  without  further  counsel, 
they  took  their  way  to  the  Rectory.  Rev.  Mr.  Mar-hall 
was  much  pleased  with  the  appearance  and 'conversation 
of  the  young  man ;  there  was  something  very  attractive 
in  his  large-hearted  views,  and  his  generous  way  of  ex- 


OR    MY    DUTY.  39 

pressing  them,  and  he  undertook  at  once  the  pleasant 
tusk  of  assisting  him  in  his  studies.  Mr.  Grey  was  to 
come  every  day  to  the  Rectory  for  recitations.  The 
announcement  of  this  plan  was  made  the  same  day  at  the 
Mansion  House,  and  so  much  delighted  were  the  gentle- 
men with  the  success  of  their  application,  that  they  failed 
to  observe  the  look  of  disappointment  that  passed  be- 
tween Mrs.  Lee  and  Virginia.  The  expressive  coun- 
tenance of  Jeanette,  on  the  contrary,  lighted  up  with 
animation,  and  she  gave  utterance  to  a  long-cherished 
wish  that  she  too  could  study  with  kind  Mr.  Marshall, 
instead  of  going  to  tedious  Mr.  Howe,  who  worried  her 
with  long  lectures  on  manners,  and  would  not  allow  her 
to  move  except  in  straight  lines  and  at  right  angles.  It 
was  a  new  thought  to  her  father  that  Jeanette  might  be 
a  scholar  of  Mr.  Marshall,  and  he  was  strongly  inclined 
to  look  favorably  upon  it ;  but  Mrs.  Lee,  who  congratu- 
lated herself  upon  having  broken  up  the  intimacy  between 
Juliette  and  Maiy,  assured  her  husband  that  Jeanette 
was  improving  at  Mr.  Howe's,  and  hinted  that  she  needed 
instruction  in  manners  perhaps  more  than  anything  else. 
So  the  thought  was  abandoned;  and  poor  Jeanette's  pleas- 
ant visions  of  reunions  with  Mary,  such  as  she  enjoyed 


40  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 

when  they  were  children  together  at  the  district  school, 
and  of  nice  talks  with  Mr.  Marshall  and  the  children,  in- 
stead of  the  formal  calls  she  now  made  with  her  mother 
and  Virginia,  —  all  these  faded,  and  she  must  return 
again  to  Mr.  Howe,  with  his  stiff,  cold,  formal  mode  of 
instruction. 

Matters  were  going  on  thus,  when  the  outbreak  men- 
tioned in  the  previous  chapter  took  place  between  Jose- 
phine, Mrs.  Marshall,  and  Mar)-.  That  was  almost 
forgotten;  a  better  state  of  feeling  was  apparent,  more 
kindness  on  the  one  side  and  confidence  on  the  other. 
But  the  sensitive  heart  of  Mary  was  again  deeply  wound- 
ed at  the  Easter  meeting  of  the  Ladies'  Sewing-Society. 
Mary  had  been  unusually  gay  and  light-hearted  in  the 
social  gathering  of  the  younger  members,  which  was  al-  • 
lowed  after  candles  were  brought  in. 

Arthur  Grey  and  Jeanette  were  both  there,  and,  being 
warm  friends  of  Mary,  were  delighted  to  see  her  throw 
off  some  of  the  gravity  which  they  said  ill  became  a  girl 
of  seventeen.  Mary  was  surprised  at  herself;  carried  out 
of  her  usual  train  of  thought,  she  had  become  :inim:it<-d 
and  excited  by  new  subjects  and  objects.  Kvcn  .Josephine 
declared,  "  Mary  could  be  quite  interesting  if  she  chose." 


OR    MY    DUTY.  41 

Jeanette  put  her  arm  about  her  friend's  waist  as  they 
went  up  stairs  for  their  shawls,  and  said  lovingly,  "  Mary, 
dear,  is  n't  Cousin  Arthur  very  pleasant  ?  " 

Mary  replied  by  a  warm  kiss,  and  Avhispered  some- 
thing in  Jeanette's  ear  that  brought  the  brilliant  color  to 
her  cheeks  ;  but  the  ladies  flocked  around,  and  she  said 
nothing.  Mrs.  Lee  rather  rudely  separated  Jeanette 
from  Mary,  and,  bowing  coldly  to  the  latter,  bade  her 
daughter,  "  Hasten,  for  papa  is  waiting."  Mary  looked 
about  for  her  bonnet.  She  did  not  care  much  for  Mrs. 
Lee's  coldness,  it  was  not  new  to  her  ;  but  as  she  stooped 
to  prepare  her  feet  for  the  walk,  she  heard  Miss  Har- 
rington and  Miss  Maynard,  two  maiden  ladies,  inquiring 
in  a  half-whisper  whether  she  was  always  to  continue  at 
the  Rectory  a  burden  on  Mr.  Marshall,  and  wonder  if  she 
had  no  relatives  in  the  world  to  help  her,  —  for  their  part, 
they  would  rather  go  out  to  service  than  live  so ;  she 
must  know  that  Mr.  Marshall  could  hardly  make  both 
ends  meet  on  his  salary  of  six  hundred,  even  when  he 
had  only  his  own  family.  All  this  Mary  heard ;  she 
tried  to  speak,  but  the  violence  of  her  heart-beating  pre- 
vented. She  hastily  threw  on  her  shawl,  and  Avas  down 
stairs  and  out  at  the  door  as  soon  as  possible.  She 
4* 


42     THE  RECTORY  OP  MORELAND : 

heard  the  happy  voices,  the  merry  laugh  of  one  and 
another  of  the  young  people  who  were  going  to  their 
homes  and  their  parents,  and  a  deep  momentary  pang  of 
rebellion  shot  through  her  heart.  But  it  was  gone  when 
she  reached  the  murmuring  brook,  where  in  childhood 
she  had  often  played,  wading  up  and  down  its  course 
with  dear  Jeanette.  She  seated  herself  on  the  mossy 
granite  bowlder,  well  known  as  a  way-mark  to  every 
attendant  at  that  district  school.  She  reviewed  her  past 
life,  her  many  griefs  and  sorrows ;  but  in  every  cloud, 
young  as  she  was,  she  could  see  "  the  silver  lining,"  and 
recognize  a  Father's  loving  hand. 

When  she  reached  home,  she  met  Mr.  Marshall  com- 
ing out  at  the  gate  in  search  of  her.  He  appeared  agi- 
tated, and  said,  in  a  tone  of  suppressed  emotion :  "  3Iy 
daughter,  where  were  you  ?  I  have  felt  anxious  about 
you.  You  ought  not  to  have  been  left  to  come  alone." 

"  I  am  sorry,  sir,  you  were  anxious,"  she  replied.  "  I 
was  not  afraid,  and  have  been  looking  at  the  brook  by 
moonlight." 

Josephine  had  heard,  and  reported  to  her  brother,  the 
conversation  between  Miss  Maynard  and  .Miss  Harring- 
ton. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  43 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

"  Be  useful  where  tliou  livest. 

Find  out  men's  •wants  and  will, 
And  meet  them  there.    All  Avorldly  joys  go  less, 
To  the  one  joy  of  doing  kindnesses." 

HERBERT. 

A  FEW  DAYS  after  the  events  related  in  our  last 
chapter,  Mr.  Marshall  said  to  Mary  :  "  I  expect  to 

exchange  next  Sunday  with  Rev.  Mr.  Field,  of  G , 

and  I  wish  to  leave  two  or  three  sick  persons  in  your 
care ;  for  I  must  go  on  Friday,  and  shall  not  return  till 
Monday."  Josephine,  who  was  drawing  at  the  study- 
table,  looked  up  with  a  mischievous  glance  in  her  spark- 
ling eye ;  but  she  met  the  look  that  awed  her,  and  she 
refrained  from  saying,  as  she  intended,  that  she  thought 
sister  Ellen  should  be  the  one  to  visit  the  sick  of  the 
parish. 

"  Here  is  a  parcel  I  wish  you  to  carry  to  Mrs.  Wat- 


44      THE  RECTORY  OP  MORELAND : 

kins,"  said  Mr.  Marshall,  still  addressing  Mary,  <k  Captain 
Watkins's  widow.  She  lives  just  over  the  bridge  on  the 
other  side  of  the  brook ;  and  here  is  a  book  I  promised  to 
send  Mrs.  Maynard."  Mary  winced  a  little,  for  she 
remembered  Miss  Maynard's  woi'ds  in  the  dressing-room, 
at  the  last  Sewing-Society.  "  Perhaps,  Mary,  if  you  get 
time,  you  might  read  parts  of  this  book  to  the  old  lady, 
for  her  daughter's  engagements  as  dress-maker  give  her 
but  little  time  at  home.  Then  here  is  one  dollar,  the 
sum  given  every  Saturday  night  to  the  McGinnis  fam- 
ily, and  here  are  some  little  things  for  the  children.  I 
believe  these  are  all  the  calls  that  are  absolutely  ne- 
cessary; but  if  you  find  time,  look  in  on  the  colored 
family  that  have  lately  come. into  our  parish.  They  live 
just  by  the  North  School-house. 

"  Is  not  Mrs.  Morey  quite  sick,  brother  ? "  said  Jose- 
phine, not  looking  up  from  her  drawing. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Marshall,  coloring  slightly,  "and  I 
wish,  Josephine,  you  would  go  and  see  her  yourself." 

Josephine  raised  her  eyebrows  incredulously,  and  then 
muttered,  "  It  is  new  business  to  me." 

"I  know  it,  my  sister.  Sorrow  and  suffering  are  new  to 
you,  but  they  must  come  to  all ;  and  would  it  not  be  well, 


OB    MY    DUTY.  45 

if,  while  you  have  life  and  health  and  earthly  comforts, 
you  Avere  to  look  sometimes  upon  those  who  are  deprived 
of  all  these  ?  " 

Mary  wondered  afterward,  when  on  her  round  of 
visits,  why  Mr.  Marshall  had  not  asked  her  to  see  Mrs. 
Morey  ;  and  she  was  much  affected  by  his  delicate 
thoughtfulness,  when  she  learned  that  Mrs.  Morey  occu- 
pied Spring  Cottage,  from  which  Mary  had  so  lately 
gone  out  an  orphan. 

Mary  made  every  effort  during  Friday  to  make  the 
visits  planned  for  her ;  but  she  was  so  continually  called 
hither  and  thither  by  Mrs.  Marshall,  who  had  taken  the 
time  of  her  husband's  absence  to  commence  that  annual 
disturbance  of  comforts,  house-cleaning,  that  the  sun  went 
down  before  Mary  was  released.  When  that  time  came, 
she  was  weary  and  her  head  ached,  but  she  knew  she 
had  only  one  day  more  for  the  visits,  and  that  would 
probably  be  occupied  as  this  had  been ;  therefore  she 
resolved  to  do  what  she  could  that  night. 

She  found  Mrs.  Watkins,  to  whose  house  she  first 
directed  her  steps,  still  confined  to  the  bed,  and  lament- 
ing deeply  the  loss  of  her  spectacles,  which  she  had  let 
fall  as  she  was  opening  a  letter. 


46  THE    RECTORY    OP    MORELAND: 

I 

<;  O  Miss  Mary,  bless  your  heart,  how  glad  I  am  to 
see  you  !  Indeed,  I  think  I  am  gladder  to  see  you  now, 
than  I  would  be  if  the  minister  himself  had  come  in. 
Little  Jim  has  just  brought  me  a  letter,  and  while  I  was 
opening  it,  down  fell  my  specs  on  the  floor,  and  there 
they  are,  all  smashed."  Here  she  began  to  sob.  "  I 
would  n't  care  so  much  about  it,  oidy  they  are  the  last 
my  poor  William  brought  me  before  he  went  that  dread- 
ful voyage.  But  you  '11  read  the  letter  for  me,"  she  said, 
wiping  her  eyes,  "and  may  be  you'll  take  my  gla>s<-s 
over  to  Dow's  and  get  'em  mended." 

Mary  quietly  took  the  letter  and  read  it  aloud. 

New  York. 
DEKR  SISTKR  : 

I  can't  rite  much  now,  but  only  have  time  to  say  tunes 
is  very  hard,  and  i  can't  send  you  enything  now.  if  your 
boys  was  only  one  on  'em  girls,  i  would  take  him  into 
my  shop,  i  hav  jist  got  rid  of  one  of  my  girls,  who 
behaved  verry  bad.  i  hav  five  now  besides  my  foreman, 
and  i  want  one  more  to  make  up  my  number,  i  wish  I 
could  get  a  likely  country  las,  for  these  city  girls  is  so 
suspitious.  i  was  sorry  to  here  you  was  sick,  but  did 


OR    MY    DUTY.  47 

not  get  yur  letter  til  ten  days  after  it  was  writ,  because 
you  did  not  derect  it  rite. 
To  Mrs.  SARAH  WATKINS, 

Millener  and  dressmaker, 

Number  90  Blank  Street,  New  York. 

Yur  luving  sister,  S.  "W. 

Mary  sat,  for  a  few  moments  after  reading  the  letter, 
in  deep  thought.  She  had  been  taught  from  her  earliest 
childhood  to  watch  the  leadings  of  Providence,  and  it 
seemed  to  her  (so  earnest  was  her  longing  for  an  opening 
by  which  she  might  earn  her  daily  bread)  that  here  was 
a  direct  call  to  her.  Her  heart  fluttered  as  she  thought 
of  the  many  times  her  dear  mother  had  said,  as  she 
trimmed  and  retrimmed  her  bonnet  with  the  same  rib- 
bon, "  "Well,  Mary,  you  will  be  a  milliner  yet." 

As  soon  as  she  could  speak,  she  said  eagerly,  "  Do 
you  think,  Mrs.  "Watkins,  I  would  suit  your  sister  in  her 
shop  ?  I  don't  know  much  about  the  business,  but  I 
could  learn." 

"  You,  Miss  Mary ! "  said  the  astonished  Mrs.  "Wat- 
kins.  "  Why,  Mr.  Marshall  would  n't  part  with  you ! 
Besides,  you  are  a  minister's  daughter ! " 


48  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 

"  If  I  am  a  clergyman's  daughter,"  said  Mary,  "  I 
have  my  living  to  get,  and  have  no  \vish  to  depend  on 
kind  Mr.  Marshall." 

"  There,"  said  the  widow,  raising  her  hands,  and 
bringing  them  down  forcibly,  "  there  !  that 's  jist  what  I 
told  Miss  Maynard,  t'  other  day,  when  she  came  in  here, 
she  said  to  read  to  me,  and  begun  by  talkin'  agin  Mr. 
Marshall,  because  he  was  so  taken  up,  she  said,  with  you 
and  little  Gracie.  I  told  her  you  arnt  your  livin'  every 
day  of  your  life  in  Mrs.  Marshall's  family ;  and  she  said 
you  was  a  '  proud,  stuck-up  piece,'  and  I  ended  the  mat- 
ter by  telling  her  she  better  go  home  and  read  to  her 
poor  old  blind  mother." 

Mary  closed  the  call  as  soon  as  she  could,  but  not 
before  Mrs.  "Watkins  had  altered  her  mind,  and  thought 
she  was  just  the  girl  for  her  sister's  shop,  —  only  she  had 
better  cut  off  those  long  curls  before  she  went  to  the  city. 
Besides,  she  gave  her  the  letter  to  take  to  Mr.  Marshall, 
that  he  might  judge  for  himself.  Mary  passed  the  house 
of  Mrs.  Maynard,  for  she  feared  to  trust  herself  to  meet 
the  daughter,  and  she  knew  the  evening  would  probably 
find  her  at  home.  She  went  on  to  the  dwelling  of  the 
colored  family,  where  she  made  herself  very  useful  by 


OR    MY    DUTY.  49 

soothing  the  crying  baby,  and  teaching  a  tall,  bony  girl 
of  fourteen  to  make  gruel  for  her  sick  mother.  Mary 
returned  home  with  a  lighter  heart  than  she  had  known 
for  some  time.  She  apologized  to  Mrs.  Marshall  for  not 
telling  her  she  was  going  out;  who  replied  by  saying, 
"I  am  glad  you  are  doing  something  to  make  yourself 
useful,  but  beg  you  will  not  go  gadding  about  the  streets 
evenings  while  Mr.  Marshall  is  away,  for  you  know  he 
would  not  approve  of  it." 

The  next  day  proved  stormy  ;  house-cleaning  could 
not  be  continued,  except  those  parts  of  it  that  could  be 
accomplished  with  closed  doors  and  windows.  In  the 
afternoon  Mary  told  Mrs.  Marshall  she  would  like  to 
take  the  money  to  the  McGinnis  family,  and  call  on  Mrs. 
Maynard.  Mrs.  Marshall  wondered  she  should  wish  to 
be  draggling  round  in  the  mud  such  unpleasant  weather. 
"  But  if  you  are  really  going,"  she  added,  "  you  may 
take  those  books  on  the  study-table,  for  Mr.  Grey,  and 
leave  them  at  Squire  Lee's  ;  they  were  to  have  been 
sent  yesterday,  and  I  forgot  them,  in  my  hurry." 

Squire  Lee's  was  quite  out  of  Mary's  way,  and  it  was 
very  repugnant  to  her  feelings  to  go  even  to  the  door ; 
but  she  had  heard  the  request,  and  there  was  no  alterna- 
5 


50  THE    RECTORY    OP    MORELAND: 

tive.  The  rain  came,  as  April  rain  is  expected  to  come, 
in  intermittent  showers.  It  looked  somewhat  brighter  as 
Mary  closed  the  gate,  and  she  thought  she  could  even 
see  a  sunbeam  gilding  the  cross  on  the  church-tower. 
She  stepped  quickly,  but  as  she  came  in  sight  of  the 
Mansion  House,  a  heavy  black  cloud  came  surging  over 
head,  and  when  she  reached  the  long  avenue  leading  to 
the  house,  the  rain  poured  in  torrents. 

Arthur  Grey  sat  by  the  window,  engaged  in  reading 
aloud  to  the  ladies  ;  looking  from  his  book,  he  exclaimed, 
"  Here,  cousin,  is  company  coming  to  interrupt  our  read- 
ing. A  lady, too  !  " 

"  Who  can  it  be  ? "  said  Virginia,  rising  from  her 
embroidery-frame  and  going  to  the  window.  "  Mary 
Evans  !  in  all  this  pouring  rain  !  What  can  have  sent 
her  here  to-day?  Some  particular  attraction,  I  dare 
say,"  she  added,  with  a  glance  toward  Arthur. 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Cousin  Virginia  ? "  said  Arthur, 
returning  the  glance.  "  Then  the  least  I  can  do  is  to 
go  and  meet  her." 

"What  a  piece  of  effrontery,"  said  Mrs.  Lee,  as 
Arthur  closed  the  door  and  went  into  the  hall  to  meet 
Mary,  "  to  come  here,  when  she  knows  how  carefully  I 


OK    MY    DUTY.  51 

have  avoided  inviting  her!  I  am  glad  your  father  is 
not  at  home  !  " 

"  Mr.  Marshall  is  out  of  towTi,"  replied  Virginia,  in 
her  most  sneering  tone,  "  and  it  is  such  a  day,  she  could 
not  but  know  she  would  find  us  all  at  home." 

"  You  wrong  Mary,"  said  Jeanette ;  "  you  are  cruel. 
She  is"  above  such  meanness."  She  rose  indignantly  and 
left  the  room.  Arthur  had  already  opened  the  hall  door, 
and  was  urging  Mary  to  come  in. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  she  said,  hurriedly  handing  him 
the  books.  "  Indeed  I  cannot,  dear  Nettie  ;  you  must 
not  urge  me,"  as  Jeanette  took  her  by  the  arm,  as  if  to 
insist  upon  her  stay.  "  I  ran  up  for  Mrs.  Marshall,  with 
these  books  ;  she  forgot  to  send  them  yesterday." 

"  But  look,  how  it  pours,"  said  Arthur.  "  You  can- 
not go." 

"  0  yes,  I  can,"  said  she,  laughingly  shaking  her  wet 
curls,  "just  as  I  came." 

Nettie  clung  to  Mary,  and  laid  her  head  lovingly  on 
her  neck.  Looking  up  into  her  face  with  those  soft, 
dove-like  eyes,  in  which  tears  were  standing,  she  whis- 
pered, "  O  Mary,  if  we  could  only  have  one  of  those 
good  talks  we  used  to  have  when  we  were  at  school 


52     THE  RECTORY  OP  MORELANDC 

together,  it  would  really  do  me  good ! "  and  the  tears 
began  to  fall. 

"  Dearest  Nettie,"  said  Mary,  soothingly  stroking  her 
golden  locks,  "  I  want  to  see  you  very  much,  but  really 
cannot  stay  now.  Perhaps  your  mother  will  let  you 
come  over  next  week  with  Ralph ;  I  have  something  I 
wish  to  tell  you." 

"  And  me  too,"  said  Arthur,  stooping  towards  them  as 
they  stood  in  that  loving  embrace. 

Mary  drew  back  a  little,  but,  smiling,  said,  "  O,  of 
course,  you  will  be  over  if  Nettie  comes ;  but  now  you 
really  must  let  me  go."  And  kissing  Jeanette  affection- 
ately, she  shook  hands  with  Arthur,  ran  down  the  steps, 
and  was  almost  in  the  street  before  Arthur  made  his 
appearance  in  the  library,  where  the  ladies  were  waiting. 
Jeanette  did  not  return  to  her  mother  and  sister,  but 
ran  up  stairs  to  her  own  room,  to  have  "a  good  cry," 
and  spend  much  time  in  removing  all  traces  of  tears,  lest 
they  should  be  inquired  of. 

Mary  went  along  as  fast  as  her  dripping  garments 
would  permit.  When  she  reached  Mrs.  Maynard's  door, 
the  shower  had  ceased,  and  she  paused  in  the  porch  to 
collect  her  thoughts  for  an  interview  with  the  daughter. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  53 

if  she  found  her  within.  Much  to  her  relief,  the  old  lady 
was  without  any  companion,  except  a  young  Irish  girl 
put  in  charge  of  fires,  etc.  Moreover,  there  was  blazing 
on  the  hearth  a  bright  open  fire.  Mary  was  speedily 
divested  of  her  outer  garments,  and  drying  her  feet,  talk- 
ing at  the  same  time  with  the  poor  old  blind  woman,  who 
occupied  a  large  arm-chair  in  a  distant  part  of  the  room. 
Her  Bible  and  Prayer-book  were  open  before  her,  and 
she  was  making  far  better  use  of  them  than  many  that 
have  eyes  to  see.  She  passed  whole  hours  with  her 
hand  resting  on  those  precious  volumes,  and  her  heart 
giving  utterance  to  the  holy  words  she  had  leamed  from 
them  long  ago.  Mary  took  out  the  book  Mr.  Marshall 
had  given  her  for  the  old  lady,  and  spent  an  hour  or 
two  very  pleasantly  in  reading  aloud.  The  book  was 
Taylor's  "  Holy  Living  and  Dying,"  and  Mary  found  in 
a  volume  that  delighted  the  aged  Christian,  much  that 
soothed  and  comforted  her  own  heart.  But  she  had  yet 
another  call  to  make,  and  it  was  growing  late. 

Having  taken  leave  of  the  old  lady,  who  called  down 

blessings  on  her  youthful  head,  she  was  going  out,  when 

Miss  Maynard  entered,  accompanied  by  Miss  Harrington. 

They  both   greeted   Mary  most  affectionately,  inquired 

5* 


54  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 

with  much  interest  after  the  family,  especially  the  "  dear 
good  man,"  and  ended  by  urging  Mary  to  stay  to  tea. 
But  she  was  firm  and  unbending  to  all  their  entreaties, 
and  went  away  leaving  the  impression  on  their  minds 
that  they  had  not  misjudged  her  when  they  called  her 
"  a  proud  piece."  She  reached  home  thoroughly  fatigued, 
but  happy  in  the  consciousness  of  having  fulfilled  all  her 
promises  to  Mr.  Mai-shall. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  55 


CHAPTER   IX. 

"  Not  that  the  present  has  no  joys  to  show, 
For  life  is  full  of  joys,  for  those  whose  mind 
Balanced  and  tempered  happily ;  they  know 
How  the  sweet  drop,  though  well  concealed,  to  find, 
Hidden  by  sorrow's  hard  and  bitter  rind." 

REV.  J.  H.  CLINCH. 

MR.  MARSHALL  did  not  return  to  his  home  till 
late  the  following  Monday.  Mary's  thoughts  in 
the  mean  time  were  dwelling  on  the  probabilities  of  her 
pastor's  acquiescence  in  her  proposed  plan.  When  he 
came  from  the  cars,  he  looked  worn  and  fatigued ;  and 
impatient  as  Mary  was  for  his  advice,  she  felt  it  would 
be  wrong  to  disturb  him  with  her  affaire  that  night.  But 
his  quick  eye  detected  the  uneasiness  she  was  trying  to 
conceal,  and  when  she  came  with  Josephine  and  the  little 
girls,  at  an  earlier  hour  than  usual,  for  the  customary 
"good-night  kiss,"  Mr.  Marshall  looked  up  into  her 
truthful  face  and  said,  "  Mary,  you  have  not  given  in 


56  THE    RECTORY    OP    MORELAND: 

your  report  from  the  sick  I  left  in  your  care"; — and  tak- 
ing a  candle  in  his  hand,  he  led  the  way  to  the  study. 

"  You  need  not  mention  the  books  I  forgot,"  whis- 
pered. Mrs.  Marshall.  Mary  looked  her  wonder,  and 
followed  to  the  study. 

"  Come,  Mary,  my  daughter,"  said  the  kind,  en- 
couraging voice  of  her  pastor,  as  he  placed  a  little 
rocking-chair  beside  his  large  study-chair,  "  sit  here ; 
I  see  you  have  something  to  say  to  me." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  have,"  replied  Mary,  in  her  straightfor- 
ward, truthful  manner,  at  the  same  time  giving  Mrs. 
Walking's  letter  into  Mr.  Marshall's  hand.  "Will  you 
please  to  read  this,  and  tell  me  what  you  think  of — 
think  of — this  situation  for  me?" 

Mr.  Marshall's  face  grew  pale  for  a  moment,  and  u 
slightly  stern  look  passed  over  his  brow,  but  it  went  as 
rapidly  as  it  came.  He  quietly  read  the  letter,  then 
re-read  it,  turned  it  over  to  see  the  superscription,  then 
read  it  again,  folded  it  leisurely,  and  put  it  carefully  into 
a  little  drawer  by  his  side. 

"  I  am  afraid,  Mary,"  he  said  at  length,  speaking  very 
slowly,  "very  much  afraid,  this  will  be  undertaking  too 
much  for  one  brought  up  as  you  have  been,  —  I  me.-"-  <> 


OB    MY    DUTY.  57 

retired  and  home-loving.  You  cannot  expect  to  find  a 
home  with  Mrs.  Watkins  ?  "  This  Avas  said  in  a  tone  of 
sadness,  that  brought  the  tears  to  Mary's  eyes. 

"  No,  my  dear,  dear  father,"  she  said,  (this  was  the 
first  time  she  had  ever  called  him  by  that  endearing 
title,)  placing  both  her  hands  over  her  face,  and  weeping 
bitterly,  "  I  do  not  seek  a  home,  —  I  do  not  wish  for  any 
home  but  this ;  but  I  have  a  longing  desire  to  help  my- 
self. And  you  will  let  me  try,"  she  added,  placing  her 
hand  on  his  arm,  and  looking  up  imploringly  into  his 
face.  Mary  trembled,  for  she  feared  this  silence  would 
certainly  end  in  a  decided  negative. 

At  length  he  said,  very  gravely,  "  This  subject  requires 
thought,  consideration,  and  prayer.  I  cannot  make  up 
my  mind  suddenly  in  so  important  a  matter.  Have  you 
spoken  to  any  one  about  it  ?  " 

"  Only  to  Mrs.  Watkins,  when  I  read  the  letter.  I 
could  not  help  telling  her  my  wish  that  I  might  fill  the 
vacancy  in  her  sister's  shop.  May  I  tell  Jeanette  that  I 
am  thinking  of  it ;  she  is  coming  over  to-morrow  with 
Mi\  Grey."  Mary  blushed,  and  hesitated,  for  she  thought 
by  association  of  the  books,  and  feared  he  might  ask  her 
when  she  saw  Jeanette,  and  then  she  must  tell  of  her 


58  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 

wet  walk  to  the  Mansion  House  e-aused  by  Mrs.  Mar- 
shall's forgetfulness. 

But  Mr.  Marshall  had  found  Mary  always  so  open 
and  truthful,  that  he  did  not  stop  to  question,  but  said, 
"  Perhaps  it  would  be  Avell  for  you  to  talk  over  this  mat- 
ter with  Jeanette.  She  loves  you  very  much,  and  will 
look  at  it  in  a  different  light."  He  took  the  letter  from 
the  drawer,  and  again  read  it  carefully.  "  These  people, 
Mary,  are  very  different  from  the  society  with  which  you 
have  been  accustomed  to  associate.  You  will  feel  great 
want  of  companionship." 

"  I  shall  depend  on  my  letters  for  companionship,"  she 
replied  quickly. 

Mr.  Marshall  sighed,  for  he  saw  by  this  remark  how 
little  she  knew  of  the  life  she  contemplated ;  but  he  dis- 
liked to  disturb  her  bright  hopes,  and  therefore  dismissed 
her  for  the  night,  with  the  customary  blessing  of  peace. 
Mary  knew,  after  she  had  retired  to  her  room,  how  deeply 
her  pastor  felt  for  her;  for  through  the  long  hours  of  the 
night  he  paced  the  study  floor,  and  it  was  not  till  the 
gray  of  morning  appeared  in  the  east  that  he  left  his 
study  for  his  chamber. 


OE    MY    DUTY.  59 


CHAPTER    X. 

"  Coming  events  cast  tlieir  shadows  before." 

CAMPBELL. 

"  The  fair  encounter  of  two  most  rare  affections." 

SHAKESPEARE. 

THE  LONG  conference  between  Jeanette  and  Mary 
was  broken  by  the  merry  voice  of  Arthur  Grey  in 
tlie  hall  at  the  Rectory,  calling,  "  Come,  Nettie  dear,  we 
shall  be  late  at  dinner,  if  you  don't  cut  short  some  of 
those  last  words." 

When  Mary  told  Jeanette  of  her  plan  of  "  getting  a 
living,"  she  was  strongly  opposed  to  it.  She  could  not 
think  of  her  leaving  Moreland ;  it  would  be  so  very 
lonely,  and  what  should  she  do  ?  It  was  Mary's  influ- 
ence that  first  led  her  to  do  what  was  right,  instead  of 
what  pleased  herself,  and  she  feared  she  should  forget  it 
all,  and  become  the  same  wilful,  selfish  girl  Mary  had 
known  at  school.  But  her  friend  led  her  to  hope  for 
better  assistance  than  she  could  render,  and  said,  gravely 


60  THE    RECTORY    OP    MOREL AND: 

and  tenderly,  "  Dear  Nettie,  if  you  would  only  come  into 
the  full  communion  of  the  Church  by  confirmation,  as  you 
have  so  often  been  urged  to  do,  how  it  would  help  you  in 
your  daily  life  !  Will  you  not,  darling  ?  " 

"  Mary,  I  would  —  it  is  not  that  I  am  waiting  to  grow 
better,  but  mamma  thinks  I  should  wait  till  Virginia  is 
ready  to  come  forward  witli  me.  I  hope  she  may  be 
when  the  Bishop  comes." 

They  said  no  more  on  that  subject.  Jeanette  was  con- 
vinced by  Mary  that  it  was  her  duty  to  do  something  for 
her  own  support ;  and  Nettie's  last  conclusion  was,  that 
there  was  something  quite  inspiring  in  "  getting  one's  own 
living,"  but  she  could  not  refrain  from  wishing  that  it  was 
anything  but  slavish  "  millinery  and  dressmaking." 

In  the  mean  time,  while  the  matter  was  under  con- 
sideration, it  was  observed  by  the  family  at  the  Rectory 
that  now,  when  Arthur  came  to  recite,  Jeanette  was 
generally  his  companion.  Mr.  Marshall  was  pleased 
with  this  arrangement,  and  thought  it  was  brought  about 
by  the  establishment  of  a  class  in  Botany,  which  Jeanette 
had  her  mother's  permission  to  join.  Mary,  considering 
the  matter,  supposed  that  Mrs.  Lee  had  found  reason  to 
change  her  opinion  about  the  intimacy  between  Jeanette 


OB    MY    DUTY.  61 

and  herself,  and  was  confirmed  in  her  supposition  by  the 
fact  that  that  lady  had  condescendingly  conversed  with 
her  on  two  several  occasions.  Mrs.  Marshall  was  grati- 
fied by  any  appearance  of  intimacy  between  her  own 
family  and  one  so  genteel  as  Squire  Lee's.  But  Josephine 
jumped  at  once  to  the  conclusion,  that  there  must  be 
something  to  bring  Nettie  always  with  Arthur,  besides 
Botany  or  Mrs.  Lee.  Of  course,  in  her  eyes,  Arthur 
and  Jeanette  were  lovers.  Josephine,  in  the  end,  was 
not  far  from  the  truth.  Circumstances  had  thrown  these 
young  people  together  ;  their  tastes  and  employments 
were  similar ;  they  saw  but  little  congenial  society. 
Parents  place  their  children  in  such  circumstances,  and 
then  wonder  at  the  folly  of  young  people. 

Mrs.  Lee  watched  the  progress  of  the  affair  with  a 
pleased  eye,  and  already  congratulated  herself  upon 
having  made  the  match.  She  would  have  preferred  her 
eldest  daughter  should  have  been  Mr.  Grey's  choice,  and 
wondered  that  a  man  of  taste  should  choose  the  simple 
child  Jeanette,  before  the  beautiful  and  brilliant  Virginia ; 
but  she  consoled  herself  with  the  thought  that  it  was  "  all 
in  the  family."  Virginia  turned  the  whole  matter  into 
ridicule,  and  professed  the  most  utter  contempt  for  every- 
6 


62      THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND : 

thing  of  the  kind.  Indeed,  she  often  told  Josephine, 
Avhom  she  made  her  confidant,  that  "  she  would  n't  many 
the  best  man  that  ever  walked." 

Arthur  Grey  had  now  been  in  Squire  Lee's  family 
four  months,  and  had  made  rapid  progress  in  his  studies 
during  the  early  part  of  his  stay ;  but  for  the  last  few 
weeks  Mr.  Marshall  had  observed  a  falling  off  in  his 
preparation  for  his  lessons.  Botany  seemed  to  be  the 
only  study  that  occupied  much  of  his  time.  lie  might 
be  seen  with  Jeanette  upon  his  arm,  in  the  bright  spring 
mornings,  as  soon  as  the  sun  was  up,  climbing  the  wood- 
crowned  hills  that  surrounded  the  village  of  Moreland, 
or  wandering  up  the  course  of  the  brook  in  search  of  the 
earliest  spring  flowers.  It  was  a  joyous  time  when  he 
could  find  a  tuft  of  the  trailing  arbutus,  or  the  bright- 
eyed  anemone,  witli  which  he  loved  to  deck  Jeanette's 
golden  locks.  These  were  sunny  hours  to  those  two 
young  hearts,  —  hours  without  a  cloud,  —  hours  that 
come  but  seldom  in  this  world  of  change,  on  whose 
brightest  and  purest  joys  is  ever  written,  "  These  also 
must  pass  away." 

Jeanette  was  just  seventeen;  —  fragile  and  delicate  as 
one  of  those  early  spring  blossoms,  with  that  childlike 


OR    MY    DUTY.  63 

loveliness,  and  those  clinging  ways,  that  attach  by  their 
very  dependence.  Arthur  was  in  his  twentieth  year. 
Tall  and  well  built,  his  fine  manly  proportions  were  fitted 
for  the  support  of  so  tender  a  plant  as  Jeanette.  He 
was  a  fine  belles-lettres  scholar,  without  being  particularly 
intellectual ;  but  he  possessed  those  warm  and  generous 
feelings,  and  noble  impulses,  best  calculated  to  win  and 
hold  a  gentle,  loving  heart. 

Nothing  was  said  of  the  future  in  those  long,  bright 
spring  days,  and  scarce  a  thought  was  given  beyond  the 
present,  or,  if  given,  was  withdrawn  immediately  to  the 
joyous  now.  Jeanette  seemed  to  have  forgotten  that 
there  had  ever  been  a  time  when  Arthur  was  not  by 
her  side ;  and  from  Arthur's  memory  all  traces  of 
college  walls,  and  college  days,  had  apparently  passed 
away. 

Let  them  dream  on. 


64  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 


CHAPTER    XI. 

'  Can  thy  keen  inspection  trace 
Aught  of  humanity's  sweet  melting  grace." 


"  Disgust  concealed 

Is  ofttimes  proof  of  wisdom,  when  the  fault 
Is  obstinate,  and  cure  beyond  our  reach." 

COWPER. 

SEVERAL  WEEKS  went  by,  after  the  conversa- 
tion between  Mr.  Marshall  and  Mary  about  Mrs. 
Watkins  and  her  shop,  before  Mary  received  any  in- 
formation respecting  her  prospect  of  a  situation  in  that 
quarter.  She  was  beginning  to  feel  that  she  must  give 
up  that  hope,  when  one  afternoon  Mr.  Marshall  said  to 
her,  "  Mary,  would  you  like  to  walk  with  me  to  see  Mrs. 
Watkins  ?  " 

They  went  on  silently  till  they  came  to  the  brook, 
when  Mr.  Mai-shall  turned  down  through  the  stile,  and 
across  the  meadow.  They  followed  the  course  of  the 
brook  through  the  fields,  till  they  came  to  a  glen,  shut 


OB    MY    DUTY.  65 

in  on  either  side  by  precipitous  granite  bluffs,  covered  to 
their  very  summit  with  a  dense  growth  of  hemlock.  The 
stream  here  descended  more  rapidly.  A  few  large  rocks 
obstructed  its  course,  and  now,  swollen  by  the  spring 
rains,  the  waters  came  tumbling  and  sparkling  through 
the  glen,  forming  in  their  course  many  a  tiny  waterfall. 

Mr.  Marshall  and  Mary,  seated  on  a  mossy  rock  under 
an  overhanging  crag,  watched  for  some  time  in  silence 
the  foaming  current. 

"  Mary,"  said  Mr.  Marshall  at  length  with  a  sigh,  "  I 
have  considered  deeply,  very  deeply,  this  scheme  of 
yours,  and  we  are  now  on  our  way  to  meet  Mrs.  TTat- 
kins  from  the  city,  who  is  visiting  her  sister.  I  have 
made  inquiries  about  the  business,  and  I  find  she  has 
an  extensive  establishment  in  Xew  York,  and  is  getting 
very  rich.  I  own,  my  dear  child,  I  should  prefer  some 
other  employment  for  you.  I  did  hope  your  voice  might 
have  aided  you  in  getting  your  living,  music  is  so  much 
called  for  in  these  days.  But  it  would  require  probably 
a  year's  instruction  before  you  would  be  a  competent 
teacher,  and  your  tuition  must  be  paid.  I  have  thought 
of  a  school,  but  you  are  young,  and  besides  could  only 
teach  the  rudiments,  and  be  very  poorly  paid,  and  have 
6* 


66      THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

nothing  better  in  prospect.  If,  after  we  have  seen  Mrs. 
Watkins,  you  conclude  to  try  your  success  with  her,  I 
shall  give  my  consent,  and  let  you  go  with  her  to  New 
York  next  week." 

"  Next  week !  So  soon  ?  "  exclaimed  Mary,  starting 
and  turning  pale. 

"Not  unless  you  wish  it,  Mary.  I  thought  perhaps 
you  would  not  feel  quite  so  much  like  a  stranger,  if  you 
went  back  with  her  when  she  goes." 

"O  yes!"  said  Mary,  recovering  herself,  "I  would 
rather  go  with  her.  I  spoke  hastily,  because  it  seemed 
so  soon  to  leave  you  all " ;  —  and  the  tears  came  as  she 
spoke. 

"I  shall  make  a  stipulation  with  Mrs.  "Watkins,  that 
you  shall  be  permitted  to  write  home  at  least  every  fort- 
night, and  as  much  oftener  as  you  can  find  time.  I  shall 

write  to  some  clergyman  in  New  York,  probably  Dr. , 

to  call  upon  you,  that  you  may  feel  at  home  in  church. 
And  now,  my  daughter,  I  want  you  to  promise  to  write 
to  me,  fully  and  freely,  about  yourself,  as  to  your  father." 

Mary  pressed  his  hand  in  token  of  assent,  for  she 
could  not  trust  herself  to  speak.  Mr.  Marshall  saw  licr 
agitation,  and,  taking  her  arm  in  his,  he  resumed  the 


OB    MY    DUTY.  67 

walk,  talking  in  a  pleasant,  cheerful  strain,  telling  her  of 
the  future,  when  she  would  come  back  to  Moreland  and 
have  a  shop  of  her  own,  and  not  only  earn  her  living, 
but  help  others.  Mary,  cheered  by  his  sympathy  and 
animated  by  his  hopes,  regained  her  composure  before 
they  reached  the  further  opening  of  the  glen,  and  came 
into  the  lane  leading  to  the  house  of  Mrs.  Watkins. 

They  found  both  the  city  and  country  dame  at  home. 
Mrs.  Polly  Watkins  welcomed  them  with  expressions  of 
delight,  and  Mrs.  Sarah  with  stately  dignity,  acquired, 
she  said,  "  by  a  life-long  experience  in  our  best  society." 
The  city  dame  was  a  tall,  slab-like  figure,  dressed  in 
bright  orange  and  scarlet,  with  an  abundance  of  flounces 
and  furbelows.  Her  whole  expression,  air,  and  manner 
gave  evidence  of  perfect  self-satisfaction.  Mr.  Marshall 
without  ceremony  made  a  plain  statement  of  his  wishes 
for  Mary.  He  inquired  her  terms,  and  found  that  ten 
months'  work  would  be  required  of  Mary,  if  she  paid 
nothing.  He  asked  about  the  number  of  hours  required 
for  work.  Mrs.  Watkins  replied,  stiffly,  that  she  was  too 
well  known,  to  fear  that  any  young  thing  would  be  hurt 
with  work  under  her  care.  Arrangements  were  made 
as  satisfactory  as  could  be  expected.  In  spite  of  our 


68      THE  RECTORY  OP  MORELAND: 

Rector's  native  dignity  and  imposing  appearance,  all  his 
suggestions  were  met  with  a  patronizing  air,  as  if  she 
was  conferring  upon  him  some  everlasting  obligation.  It 
was  concluded  that  the  station  omnibus  should  call  at  the 
Rectory  for  Mary  on  the  next  Tuesday,  the  day  Mrs. 
Watkins  had  fixed  for  her  own  departure.  Mary  ex- 
perienced a  feeling  of  relief  when  the  interview  was 
ended,  and  she  was  again  in  the  open  air ;  yet  there  was 
a  sense  of  disappointment  mingled  with  the  relief,  for 
she  felt  she  could  never  have  one  feeling  in  common  with 
that  cold,  stiff  figure.  Mr.  Marshall  thoroughly  disliked 
the  woman,  and  an  undefined  feeling  of  anxiety  came 
over  him,  when  he  thought  of  trusting  Mary  to  her  care. 

"  I  declare,  Polly !  anybody  would  have  thought  by 
your  palavering  over  that  girl,  that  there  was  no  other 
to  be  had  for  the  place.  I  s'pose  you  don't  know  I  'vc 
had  over  thirty  after  it,  and  I  choose  this  one  bec:ui>i- 
she  belongs  way  out  here,  and  has  no  relations  to  come 
and  see  her." 

«  Well,  Sally,  I  'm  glad  you  like  her,"  said  Mrs.  Polly, 
subdued  by  the  hai-sh  tones  of  her  sister ;  "  she  is  a  nice, 
capable  girl,  and  comes  of  a  good  family.  But  I  told  the 
young  thing  she  'd  better  cut  off  that  heap  of  curls,  or 


OB    MY    DUTY.  69 

comb  up  her  hair  like  a  woman,  before  she  went  to  the 
city." 

"  Cut  off  her  curls,  you  fool  I "  said  the  refined  Mrs. 
Sarah,  jumping  to  her  feet,  and  upsetting  the  light-stand, 
candle  and  all;  "cut  off  her  curls  !  Why,  that's  all  the 
girl 's  got  to  recommend  her.  You  don't  tliink  she  '11  be 
such  a  simpleton  ?  " 

"Well,  I  don't  know, —  she  thinks  a  good  deal  of  what 
I  say,"  whined  the  discomforted  Polly. 

"  Well,  I  wish,  another  time,  you  'd  mind  your  own 
business,  and  not  be  interfering  in  this  way ;  as  sure  as 
the  girl  cuts  off  her  curls,  I  wont  take  her." 

The  next  morning  by  sunrise  "  Little  Jim  "  was  at  the 
Rectory  gate,  with  a  note  for  Miss  Mary  Evans. 

DEER  GURL, 

Don't  cut  off  your  curls,  sister  says  she  likes  'em 
you  '11  like  her  better  after  you  get  akwainted  with  her, 
she  's  better  than  she  looks. 

Yur  frend 

POLLY  WATKINS. 

Mary  felt  strongly  tempted  to  apply  the  shears  at  once 
to  her  hair ;  she  did  try  to  comb  it  back,  and  turn  it  up, 


TO     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

but  all  in  vain ;  the  long  dark  trt'sses  would  curl,  and 
would  not  be  confined  by  any  art.  The  news  soon 
spread  through  the  family,  that  Mary  was  really  going, 
and  Josephine  began  to  realize  how  great  would  be  her 
loss ;  for  although  there  was  little  congeniality  between 
them,  Mary,  by  gentleness  and  kindness,  was  winning 
from  Josephine  her  growing  esteem.  Mrs.  Marshall 
wondered  that  her  husband  should  feel  so  grieved  about 
Mary's  departure,  when  she  was  going  to  do  so  well ;  for 
her  part,  she  thought  "  Grace  would  do  better  without 
Mary."  Mr.  Marshall,  indignant  at  her  want  of  feeling 
for  one  so  young  and  friendless  going  out  into  the  great 
world  alone,  replied,  "  Ellen,  for  my  sake  do  not  tell  the 
child  you  are  glad  she  is  going " ;  and  retired  to  the 
study,  where  he  held  a  long  conference  with  Mary,  ad- 
vising, counselling,  and  warning,  as  far  as  he  was  able  to 
see  the  future,  and  ended  with  saying,  "  Mary,  the  dying 
words  of  your  mother  will  be  more  to  you  in  every  emer- 
gency than  anything  I  can  say,  —  'Do  your  duty  in  that 
state  of  life  into  which  it  shall  please  God-  to  call  you.' " 

The  Sunday  before  Mary  left  Moreland,  she  took 
Grace  and  Ralph  for  a  walk  into  the  churchyard.  It 
was  a  bright  afternoon  in  May ;  the  grass  was  just  be- 


OR    MY    DUTY.  71 

ginning  to  spring  from  the  sods  on  their  mother's  grave. 
A  few  newly-set  shrubs  were  putting  forth  tender  shoots, 
the  birds  were  building  in  the  overshadoAving  pines,  and 
the  place  was  dearer  than  ever  to  Mary.  The  three 
knelt  in  that  hallowed  spot,  one  of  each  of  the  little 
hands  clasped  in  their  elder  sister's,  Avhile  she  prayed 
that  they  might  continue  "  Christ's  faithful  soldiers  and 
servants,  unto  their  life's  end." 

"  But,  sister  Mary,"  said  Ralph,  as  they  turned  from 
the  grave,  "  why  do  you  go  away  ?  You  say,  to  earn 
something  for  yourself  and  Grace.  When  I  am  a  big 
man,  I  will  build  you  a  house,  and  then  we  can  all  stay 
in  it.  I  wish  I  was  a  big  man  now." 

"  I  wish,"  said  little  Grace,  as.  the  tears  she  had  been 
trying  to  check  burst  forth,  "  I  Avish  mamma  had  n't 
died;  Ave  Avere  so  happy  at  the  Cottage,  and  mamma 
Avas  never  cross  to  me,  and  Mrs.  Marshall  is.  I  shall 
have  no  friend  Avhen  you  are  gone." 

"  O  hush,  darling ! "  said  Mary,  "  you  grieve  me. 
Have  you  forgotten  kind  dear  Mr.  Marshall,  and  Alice 
and  Ralph,  and  Jeanette  and  Arthur  ? " 

"  But,"  said  Grace,  looking  up  through  her  tears, 
"  don't  it  ever  seem  iiiikind  to  you,  sister  Mary,  that  God 


72  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND  : 

should  take  away  first  papa,  then  Edgar  and  Willie,  and 
last  of  all  dear,  dear  mamma,  and  leave  us  three  so  very 
desolate  ?  " 

"  Not  unkind,  —  0,  no,  Gracie,  dearest !  I  can  some- 
times feel  almost  glad  for  dear  papa,  he  was  such  a 
sufferer,  and  for  our  two  little  brothers,  so  early  called ; 
it  seems  pleasant  to  die  so  young.  But  dear  mamma, 
—  O,  it  does  seem  strange!  but  we  must  not  murmur, 
but  try  to  say,  though  it  is  very  hard,  "  Thy  will  be 
done." 

"  To  the  still  -wrestlings  of  the  lonely  heart 
He  doth  impart 
The  virtue  of  his  midnight  agony." 

How  often  her  kind  pastor  had  repeated  these  lines  to 
her  when  she  was  in  sorrow !  And  now  they  came 
with  fresh  force,  and  stilled  the  throbbing  of  that  suf- 
fering heart. 


OK   MY    DUTY.  73 


CHAPTER    XII. 

"  Alas !  the  dame  was  harsh  and  stern ; 
She  led  her  weary  days  and  nights; 
She  nothing  knew  of  childhood's  ways, 
And  how  should  she  their  nature  learn  ? 
She  had  no  children  of  her  own, 
And  in  her  loneness  she  had  grown 
E'en  like  the  rock." 

mUESDAY  MORNING  came,  and  Mary,  with  a 
I  very  pale  face,  had  taken  leave  of  the  family  at 
the  Rectory,  and  was  on  her  way  to  the  far-off  city. 
She  held  in  her  hand  a  parting  note  from  Jeanette, 
accompanied  by  a  bracelet  of  exquisite  workmanship, 
braided  with  a  curl  of  Maiy's  dark  hair,  interwoven 
with  one  of  Jeanette's  golden  locks.  The  note  con- 
tained the  assurance  that  Mrs.  Lee  had  given  her 
consent  to  a  correspondence  between  Mary  and  her 
daughter. 

Miles    on    miles,   villages   on   villages,   were    passed 


74  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 

with  the  customary  railroad  rapidity,  and  that  tall,  un- 
bending figure  sat  immovable,  just  before  Mary.  She 
was  more  decidedly  brilliant  in  her  colors  than  at  their 
previous  meeting,  having  added  to  her  red  and  yellow 
plaid  dress  a  scarlet  mantilla  edged  with  black,  with  a 
hat  and  ribbons  of  the  same  hue. 

"  Do  you  know  anybody  in  New  York  ? "  she  said, 
in  a  harsh,  husky  voice.  Mary  started,  for  she  had 
given  herself  up  to  reverie,  supposing  she  would  not 
be  called  upon  to  speak. 

"  Not  one  person,"  she  replied,  at  length,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Well,  that 's  good,"  said  Mrs.  Sarah,  giving  a  twitch 
to  her  mantilla ;  "  there  's  nothing  plagues  me  f-o  much 
as  to  have  my  girls'  relations  runnin'  in  all  the  time,  — 
I  generally  put  a  stop  to  it.  I  don't  like  this  plan  of 
the  parson's  about  writin'  home  so  often ;  this  constant 
hearin'  from  their  folks  is  sure  to  make  girls  homesick, 
and  good  for  nothin'.  If  I  had  my  way  they  should  n't 
hear  at  all." 

Mary  colored  deeply  when  she  heard  her  reverend 
father  spoken  of  as  "the  parson,"  and  at  first  proudly 
determined  not  to  reply ;  but  her  desire  to  be  on 
comfortable  terms  with  her  mistress  prevailed,  anil 


OR    MY    DUTY.  75 

she  said,  modestly,  "  I  am  afraid  I  should  be  very  home- 
sick if  I  did  not  hear  from  home  often." 

"  O,  no  danger ;  you  '11  find  enough  to  do  to  keep  off 
the  blues ;  there  's  nothin'  like  plenty  of  Avork  to  drive 
away  thought.  But  I  don't  see  as  you  have  anything 
to  be  homesick  for;  they  say  the  parson  took  you  out 
of  charity  to  keep  you  out  of  the  poor-house,  and  I  dare 
say  he  is  very  glad  to  give  yon  a  chance  to  get  your 
livin'." 

There  was  a  rising  in  Mary's  throat  that  almost  suf- 
focated her ;  she  bit  her  lip  severely  to  keep  down  the 
angry  word  she  longed  to  speak,  and  the  bitter  tears 
she  longed  to  shed.  The  ten  months  already  began  to 
look  interminable.  A  journey  by  railroad  in  these  days 
is  a  bitter  sarcasm  on  the  quiet  old  stage-coach,  and 
early  in  the  evening  they  were  landed  safely  at  Mrs. 
"Watkins's  shop,  hundreds  of  miles  from  Moreland.  The 
shop  was  situated  in  one  of  the  most  public  thorough- 
fares in  New  York.  Its  large  windows,  and  long  coun- 
ters on  either  side>  were  covered  with  a  gorgeous  display 
of  ribbons,  laces,  feathers,  flowers,  and  all  the  parapher- 
nalia of  fashionable  millinery  and  dress-making.  Besides 
everything  pertaining  to  the  business,  there  had  been  no 


76  .THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 

expense  spared  to  make  the  room  attractive  to  customers. 
Stands  of  rare  exotics  exhaled  their  delightful  perfume 
from  each  window,  and  cages  of  beautiful  birds  were 
suspended  in  various  parts  of  the  apartment.  Long 
mirrors  reflected  all  these  objects ;  and  chairs  of  the 
finest  French  upholstery  stood  ready  to  be  occupied. 
But  what  first  attracted  Mary's  eye  was  a  marble  foun- 
tain, in  whose  ever-changing  waters  lived  beautiful  gold 
and  silver  fishes. 

At  the  farther  end  of  the  shop,  raised  from  the  main 
floor,  and  enclosed  by  an  iron  railing,  was  an  area  nearly 
filled  with  a  desk  and  an  iron  safe.  Behind  this  plat- 
form were  two  doors,  the  one  on  the  right  leading  to 
the  fitting-room  (so  called),  a  small,  pleasant  apartment, 
furnished  like  the  shop,  with  everything  comfortable,  and 
even  elegant,  for  the  use  of  the  ladies  who  came  there 
to  be  measured  and  fitted  for  their  dresses.  The  other 
door  opened  into  a  long,  narrow,  semicircular  room,  evi- 
dently an  afterthought  of  the  builder,  for  it  was  wholly 
lighted  from  the  ceiling.  This  was  the  sewing-room, 
where  Mary  spent  many  aweary  day, —  "stitch,  stitch, 
stitch."  This  room  contained  nothing  that  was  not  ab- 
solutely necessary.  The  floor  was  bare,  the  seats  were 


OR    MY    DUTY.  77 

of  the  most  ordinary  kind,  and  the  Avails  were  decorated 
with  patterns  of  sacques,  capes,  collars,  &c.,  &c.  A  single 
coarse  table  occupied  the  centre  of  the  room.  This  was 
always  covered  with  a  promiscuous  heap  of  half-made 
garments.  Mary's  heart  grew  sick  as  she  followed  Mrs. 
"Watkins  into  this  room,  and  looked  at  the  five  luckless 
girls,  from  the  age  of  seventeen  to  that  of  twenty-seven, 
engaged  in  sewing  with  energy,  evidently  invigorated  by 
the  sudden  entrance  of  the  owner  of  the  establishment. 

"  Here,  Hetty,"  said  Mrs.  Watkins  to  a  short,  dumpy, 
red-haired  girl,  —  she  might  be  eighteen,  she  might  be 
twenty-eight,  her  face  being  inexpressive  and  covered 
with  freckles,  — "  here,  help  this  girl  up  stairs  with  her 
trunk,  and  then  show  her  the  way  into  the  eating-room, 
for  I  'm  half  starved,  as  you  may  suppose.  It 's  hungry 
business  riding  from  six  in  the  morning  till  five  at  night 
without  a  mouthful." 

Hetty  did  as  she  was  bid,  and  helped  Mary  with  her 
trunk,  first  through  a  narrow  alley  between  the  shop  and 
the  next  building,  and  up  an  outside  flight  of  stairs,  then 
up  another  flight  of  inside  stairs  into  the  attic.  This 
was  a  large,  unfinished  room,  over  the  whole  tenement. 
It  was  lighted  and  ventilated  by  a  small,  semicircular 
7* 


; 


78  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 

window  in  each  end.  Three  bedsteads,  a  few  rickety 
chairs,  a  single  light-stand,  several  trunks,  and  some  old 
rubbish  under  the  eaves,  completed  the  furniture  of  this 
apartment. 

"  "Which  of  these  beds  am  I  to  occupy  ? "  said  Mary, 
giving  one  glance  round  the  room,  and  trying  not  to 
breathe  the  sigh  that  lay  like  a  load  on  her  heart. 

"  Well,  I  s'pose  it 's  this,"  said  Hetty,  putting  down 
one  side  of  the  trunk  near  the  largest  of  the  beds.  "  I 
and  Nell  sleeps  in  that  ere  bed,  and  Hat  and  Fan  sleeps 
in  that,  and  the  Methodist  sleeps  here,  and  I  s'pose  you  '11 
have  to  take  up  with  her,  'cause  we  don't  want  to  hear 
none  of  her  pious  talk." 

"  What  's  her  name  ? "  said  Mary,  with  more  anima- 
tion than  she  hail  yet  shown  ;  for  she  began  to  think  if 
she  could  only  see  one  God-serving  person  she  should 
be  thankful. 

"  Her  name  is  Ann  Moore,  and  we  all  hate  her ;  she  's 
that  tall,  long-faced,  wall-eyed  woman,  next  the  door  as 
you  came  up.  But  I  declare,  if  you  aint  a  crying  !  You 
better  get  up  and  come  down  and  get  so'thin'  to  eat ;  it  '11 
do  you  a  sight  more  good  than  to  sit  there  snivellin'." 

Mary,  faint  with  hunger,  and  weary,  had  sunk  on  her 


OR    MY    DUTY.  79 

trunk,  and,  leaning  on  her  hands,  had  given  way  to  her 
grief. 

"  Well,  I  never  ! "  said  Hetty,  raising  her  hands.  "  I 
say,  if  you  wont  come,  I  must  go,  or  boss  Avill  give  me 
a  fine  scoldin',  and  likely  a  box,  which  is  her  fashion." 

Mary  wiped  her  eyes  and  followed  her  interesting 
companion.  Hungry  as  she  was,  she  would  much  rather 
have  gone  at  once  to  bed  than  meet  again  that  disagree- 
able Mrs.  Watkins.  Her  eyes  were  so  blinded  by  the 
moisture  that  would  come  into  them,  that  she  nearly  fell 
the  whole  length  of  the  stairs,  and  was  only  saved  by 
Hetty's  stout  arm.  When  they  came  to  the  end  of  the 
first  flight,  she  observed  a  door  she  had  not  noticed  when 
she  went  up.  By  this  they  entered  the  rooms  on  the 
second  floor,  which  were  three  in  number,  —  two  good- 
sized  bed-rooms  on  the  front,  and  a  long,  narrow  room 
on  the  back,  which  served  as  dining-room,  kitchen,  wash- 
room, and  pantry,  all  in  one.  One  of  the  front  rooms 
was  occupied  by  Mrs.  Watkins  and  Miss  Turner,  "the 
foreman,"  as  she  was  always  called ;  the  other  was  kept 
as  a  spare  chamber  for  any  chance  guests  who  might 
favor  Mrs.  Watkins  with  their  company.  The  kitchen 
was,  as  has  been  said,  a  long,  narrow  room,  and  had 


80  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND : 

that  delightful  view  from  its  windows  usually  presented 
by  the  rear  of  city  houses,  the  sheds  and  hack  yards  of 
the  neighboring  tenements.  At  one  end  of  the  room 
was  a  permanent  table,  covered  with  an  oilcloth.  It  was 
arranged  for  a  meal,  as  it  always  was,  the  dishes  being 
invariably  washed  and  put  back  in  their  places  after 
every  repast.  Mrs.  Walk  ins  was  already  seated  at  this 
table,  and  beckoned  Mary  to  a  seat  by  her  side.  A 
cup  of  tea,  a  plate  of  dry  toast,  and  a  small  piece  of 
stale  butter,  made  up  the  bill  of  fan?. 

"  Hetty,"  said  Mrs.  "NVatkins,  in  tin  unusually  pic-used 
voice,  "  have  n't  you  anything  of  the  meat  kind  in  the 
house?  I  tell  you  we're  dreadful  hungry."  The  obe- 
dient Hetty  went  to  the  cupboard  and  brought  out  a 
plate  on  which  remained  the  bone  of  a  ham.  Mrs. 
Watkins  took  the  gristly  bone  in  her  fingers,  and,  hav- 
ing shaved  off  all  the  bits  she  could,  passed  the  bone 
to  Mary,  with  the  original  remark,  "  The  nearer  the  bone, 
the  sweeter  the  meat." 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  drink  strong  tea  ? "  she  said  to 
Mary,  as  she  dashed  the  water  into  her  cup.  Mary 
ate  in  silence ;  every  mouthful  was  forced  down  ;  there 
was  a  sickness  at  her  heart  that  would  have  prevented 


OR    MY    DUTY.  81 

her  relishing  the  best  viands.  She  did  venture  to  ask 
her  mistress  if  she  might  be  permitted  to  go  back  to 
the  sleeping-room  for  the  night,  as  her  head  ached 
severely.  Mrs.  "Watkins,  being  in  a  pleasant  mood,  hav- 
ing found  everything  had  gone  on  well  in  her  absence, 
gave  her  consent  more  willingly  than  Mary  expected. 
"  I  suppose,"  she  added,  "  Hetty  told  you,  you  were  to 
sleep  with  Ann ;  the  girls  don't  like  her,  but  I  guess 
she  '11  suit  you,  —  she  's  kind  o'  pious  like." 

Mary  was  glad  to  reach  the  attic  once  more.  Plere 
she  should  have  at  least  a  few  hours  to  herself.  She 
resolved  she  would  not  spend  the  time  of  leisure  she 
had  now  (which  she  felt  a  presentiment  would  not  come 
again  for  a  long  while)  in  weeping.  She  seated  herself 
on  her  trunk,  and  read  and  reread  Jeanette's  precious  let- 
ter. Taking  from  her  carpet-bag  her  Bible  and  Prayer- 
Book,  and  from  her  pocket  her  "  Little  Kempis,"  she  read 
the  daily  lessons;  and  having  finished  her  communings 
with  herself,  she  kneeled  and  committed  all  her  cares 
into  the  hands  of  One  who  cared  for  her. 


82  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

"  Let  them  sec 

That  as  more  pure  your  faith, 
Yourselves  are  gentler,  purer." 

SOUTHEY. 

"  If  there  come  nnto  your  assembly  a  man  with  a  gold  ring,  in 
goodly  apparel,  and  there  come  in  also  a  poor  man  in  vile  raiment, 
and  ye  have  respect  to  him  that  wearcth  the  gay  clothing,  and  say 
unto  him,  Sit  thou  here  in  a  good  place,  and  say  to  the  poor,  Stand 
thou  here,  or  sit  here  under  my  footstool  ;  are  ye  not  then  partial  in 
yourselves,  and  are  become  judges  of  evil  thoughts?"  —  ST.  JAMI.S. 

OVERCOME  AS  Mary  was  with  fatigue  of  mind 
and  body,  she  slept  soundly.  She  was  awakened, 
after  some  hours,  by  a  low  wailing  near  her  bedside,  while 
from  the  farther  corner  of  the  room  came  sounds  of  con- 
vulsed laughter  and  whisperings.  She  raised  her  head 
slightly,  and  saw,  by  the  moonlight  that  came  streaming 
in  at  the  little  window,  the  figure  of  a  woman  kneeling, 
apparently  rapt  in  intense  devotion.  Her  petitions  were 


OR    MY    DUTY.  83 

audible,  as  she  remembered  one  after  another  of  the  god- 
less family  in  which  she  dwelt.  Mary  was  impressed; 
she  wondered  how  the  girls  dared  to  laugh  and  make  a 
mock  of  such  a  sight.  When  Miss  Moore  had  finished 
her  prayers,  which  were  in  no  wise  shortened  by  the 
laughter  and  whispers,  she  came  at  once  to  bed,  and  soon 
sank  into  deep  slumber.  Mary  listened  for  some  time  to 
the  different  notes  of  the  slumbercrs,  and  then  sank  into 
sleep  as  profound  as  theirs.  A  bell  next  morning,  at 
dawn  of  day,  aroused  the  occupants  of  the  attic.  There 
was  a  simultaneous  movement  to  dress,  and  Mary  fol- 
lowed the  example  of  the  others.  It  was  too  early  for 
her  to  see  to  read,  and  she  had  no  means  of  lighting  a 
lamp :  she  hesitated  while  Hetty  and  Nelly  were  calling 
her  to  come  down  with  them.  She  declined,  however, 
and,  going  quietly  behind  the  bed  into  a  retired  comer, 
she  kneeled,  and  offered  her  silent  devotions  to  her 
Heavenly  Father.  She  expected  the  girls  would  ridi- 
cule her,  but  they  did  not.  Before  she  had  ended  her 
prayers,  she  was  disturbed  by  the  same  sound  that  had 
awakened  her  in  the  night.  It  annoyed  her  so  much, 
that  she  shortened  her  own  petitions,  resolving  that  in 
future  she  would  take  a  time  either  before  or  after  Miss 
Moore,  for  so  solemn  a  duty. 


84  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 

Two  weeks  went  by,  and  Mary  feat  down  to  write  her 
first  letter  home. 

New  York,  May,  18—. 
MY  DEAR,  FATHER: — 

I  have  followed  your  oft-expressed  wish,  and  call 
you  "  father,"  not  only  because  it  is  your  wish,  but  also 
because  it  affords  me  much  pleasure.  You  asked  me  to 
write  freely,  and  I  will  try  to  do  so.  You  will  smile 
when  I  tell  you  how  very,  very  homesick  I  have  been. 
I  have  thought  often  of  something  you  once  said  to  me : 
"  The  comfort  of  life  depends  more  on  the  sympathy  and 
kindness  of  our  companions,  than  on  any  other  outward 
circumstance."  Mrs.  Watkins's  shop  is  very  splendid ; 
she  has  most  beautiful  birds  and  flowers  in  it  ;  Miss 
Turner,  the  "foreman,"  as  Mrs.  "Watkins  calls  her,  has 
the  care  of  them.  The  affairs  of  the  shop  are  conducted 
in  the  most  systematic  manner,  otherwise  there  would  be 
great  confusion.  I  have  already  arrived  at  the  conclu- 
sion, that  our  mistress  is  an  uncommonly  smart  woman. 
We  all  rise  with  the  dawn,  and  each  has  her  work  as- 
signed her.  One  sweeps  the  shop,  another  makes  the 
fire  and  assists  in  getting  breakfast,  another  puts  to 
rights  the  chamber  in  which  six  of  us  sleep,  a  fourth 


OR    MY    DUTY.  85 

arranges  the  work-room,  another  prepares,  as  far  as  pos- 
sihle,  for  the  dinner,  that  no  time  may  be  lost  after  we 
get  to  work ;  the  last  girl  does  ah"  that  is  left  undone  by 
the  others  :  this  station  I  occupy  for  the  present.  After 
housework  and  breakfast  are  over,  —  and  they  are  de- 
spatched with  railroad  speed,  —  we  all  go  to  the  work- 
room, except  one  who  assists  in  waiting,  and  in  running 
of  errands  in  the  shop.  The  girls  say  Mrs.  Watkins 
always  brings  the  one  she  thinks  the  best  looking  into  the 
shop.  The  five  that  go  to  the  work-room  remain  there, 
with  the  exception  of  fifteen  minutes  allowed  for  dinner, 
and  the  same  for  tea,  till  ten,  and  sometimes  eleven 
o'clock  at  night.  I  have  not  become  interested  in  my 
fellow-workwomen.  Miss  Ann  Moore,  who  is  much 
older  than  I  am,  I  like,  because  she  seems  to  have  re- 
ligious principle,  though  she  makes  too  much  parade  of 
her  piety  to  suit  my  taste.  The  girls  call  her  the  Meth- 
odist ;  she  is  not  a  Methodist,  however,  but  belongs  to 
some  other  denomination.  I  thought  I  offended  her  very 
much  by  refusing  to  accompany  her  to  her  meeting. 
I  thanked  her,  but  said  I  never  went  away  from  my 
own  church.  She  seemed  hurt  at  first,  but  afterwards 
said,  '  I  don't  like  the  Episcopals,  but  I  do  like  consist- 
8 


86     THE  RECTORY  OP  MORELAND: 

ency."  Since  then,  she  has  treated  me  with  much  more 
kindness  than  before.  She  is  much  concerned  because 
I  use  a  Prayer-Book,  Mass-Book  she  calls  it ;  but  since 
I  told  her  nothing  was  so  dear  to  me  in  the  world  as  my 
Bible  and  Prayer-Book,  she  has  ceased  to  speak  of  it. 
She  is  disturbed,  and  I  own  it  causes  me  great  pain,  to 
mark  the  way  hi  which  Mrs.  Watkins  and  the  girls  pass 
Sunday.  Their  own  sewing  and  mending  are  done  on 
that  day,  and  after  church  at  night  they  spend  their  time 
walking  the  streets.  Miss  Turner  goes  away  to  her 
friends  on  Sundays,  and  Mrs.  Watkins  never  goes  to 
any  house  of  worship. 

I  tiy  to  persuade  Nellie  to  go  to  church  with  me,  but 
she  is  afraid  the  girls  will  laugh  at  her ;  she  is  not  very 
bright,  and  is  the  butt  of  all  the  family,  constantly  expos- 
ing herself  to  ridicule  by  her  ludicrous  mistakes. 

But  I  know,  dear  father,  that  you  are  wishing  to  hear 
particularly  of  my  own  church-going.  I  found,  on  in- 
quiry, that  Church,  where  Rev.  Dr.  

officiates,  was  quite  near ;  I  took  a  seat  in  a  side  slip 
about  half-way  to  the  chancel.  The  people  came  Hock- 
ing in;  I  tried  to  compose  my  thoughts,  but  my  heart 
would  return  to  our  own  quiet  Moreland  church,  and 


OK    MY    DUTY.  87 

my  dear  pastor's  voice.  I  was  recalled  by  the  com- 
mencement of  the  service.  The  clergyman  was  reading 
the  Exhortation,  and  I  was  feeling  thankful  and  home- 
like, hearing  the  old  familiar  words ;  when  a  gentleman 
and  two  ladies  came  to  the  pew.  I  moved  towards  the 
door,  giving  the  ladies  the  upper  seat,  but  they  did  not 
enter  till  I  left  the  pew,  and  the  young  man  closed  the 
door,  leaving  me  in  the  aisle.  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
dark  everything  looked  to  me  for  an  instant.  I  found 
myself  going  out  of  church,  and  was  only  arrested  as  I 
came  near  the  porch,  by  a  kind  old  gentleman  who  beck- 
oned me  into  his  seat.  I  felt  my  face  grow  very  red. 
I  kneeled,  and  tried  to  join  in  the  Confession ;  but  morti- 
fication, and  I  fear  a  little  anger,  disturbed  my  devotions. 
Indeed,  through  the  whole  service,  the  affront  I  had  re- 
ceived was  uppermost  in  my  mind.  I  am  ashamed  of 
myself  now,  that  I  should  have  felt  so  much,  and  I  re- 
solved on  my  way  home  to  tell  no  one  but  you  of  it.  I 
spent  the  intermission  in  trying  to  become  reconciled  to 
things  as  they  were.  I  confess,  my  dear  father,  I  felt  a 
pang  of  discontent  with  my  situation.  The  "  Little  Kern- 
pis  "  came  to  me  like  your  own  encouraging  voice,  while 
I  read,  "  All  things  are  to  be  borne  patiently,  as  the  loss 


88     THE  KECTOKY  OP  MORELAND: 

of  property,  vexations  of  enemies,  sickness,  incivilities, 
severity  of  speech,  want  of  consolation,  the  affection  of 
friends ;  by  these  a  man  is  proved,  and  is  as  if  purged 
in  the  fire.  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  who  labor." 

I  had  half  resolved  not  to  go  to  church  in  the  after- 
noon ;  but  in  this,  self  was  not  allowed  to  conquer,  and 
I  took  my  seat  again  with  the  kind  old  gentleman  and  his 
lady.  My  soul  was  cheered  by  the  words  I  had  heard 
from  my  infancy.  The  music  was  so  different  from  our 
simple  country  singing,  that  I  could  not  join  with  the 
choir  till  the  hymn,  when  they  sung  that  dear  hymn  of 
good  Bishop  Ken,  "  Glory  to  thee,  my  God,  this  night," 
and  in  the  familiar  tune.  I  joined  with  all  my  heart. 
After  church,  the  old  lady  kindly  complimented  me  on 
my  singing,  but  added,  that  the  choir  were  not  pleased 
to  have  members  of  the  congregation  sing !  I  could  not 
pass  the  evening  as  I  wished.  I  remembered  your  cau- 
tion about  going  out  evenings,  and  stayed  in  the  work- 
room. The  girls  were  all  there,  with  two  or  three  young 
men,  whose  appearance  and  conversation  were  not  at  all 
agreeable  to  me.  Mrs.  Watkins  is  not  willing  we  should 
have  an  extra  light,  or  I  should  have  gone  to  the  attic. 
You  will  begin  to  think  this  long  letter  dull  and  gloomy. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  89 

I  have  written  all  about  myself,  for  of  what  else  should 
I  write  to  you  ?  I  have  kept  the  bright  side  till  the  last. 
The  past  week,  a  parcel  came  into  the  shop,  wrapped  in 
a  Church  newspaper.  In  looking  over  it,  I  saw  a  notice 
of  the  "Free  Church  of  St.  Joseph."  I  thought  you 
would  be  willing  I  should  go  there.  I  inquired  of  Miss 
Moore  as  to  its  locality,  and  found  she  passed  it  on  her 
way  to  meeting.  I  cannot  express  to  you  how  delighted 

I  was  with  all  I  saw  and  heard.     The  Rev.  Dr.  Z 

is  the  rector.  If  you  are  willing,  I  have  no  wish  to  look 
further  for  a  place  of  worship. 

I  shall  hope  for  a  long  letter  from  you  very  soon,  if 
I  have  not  wearied  you  with  the  details  of  this.  Give 
my  love  to  Mrs.  Marshall,  Josephine,  and  the  dear  chil- 
dren. Please  tell  Grace  and  Alice,  sister  Mary  has  only 
seen  one  thing  in  all  this  large  city  she  cares  much  to 
have  them  see,  and  that  is  the  beautiful  marble  fountain 
in  our  shop,  in  which  gold  and  silver  fishes  live  and 
thrive.  I  enclose  a  note  to  Jeanette  ;  will  you  please 
give  it  to  her  ?  Mrs.  Watkins  wanted  I  should  write  my 
letters  home  on  Sundays ;  but  it  did  not  seem  to  me  quite 
right,  and  I  told  her  I  thought  you  would  not  be  pleased. 
"With  much  love,  your  affectionate  daughter, 

8  *  MAUY. 


90  THE    RECTORY    OF 

The  enclosed  note  to  Jeanette  ran  thus :  — 

DEAREST  NETTIE:  — 

Many  thanks  for  your  kind,  comforting  note  and 
beautiful  gift.  It  was  a  very  lovely  thought  of  yours, 
twining  a  lock  of  your  hair  with  mine.  You  cannot 
imagine  how  grateful  I  am  to  your  mother  for  her  per- 
mission to  you  to  write  to  me.  Do  improve  it.  Remem- 
ber me  to  friends  in  Moreland,  who  all  seem  nearer  and 
dearer  than  ever. 

I  feel  as  if  I  could  willingly  embrace  poor  old  blind 
Kate,  if  I  could  see  her. 

Write  soon,  and  tell  all  the  news  to  your  loving 

MARY. 


OB    MY    DUTY.  91 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

"And  shouldst  thou  ask  my  judgment  of  that   -which  hath  most 

profit  in  the  world, 
For  answer  take  thou  this:  The  prudent  penning  of  a  letter." 

TVPPKR. 

THE  WEEK  after  Mary's  letter  was  sent  to  More- 
land,  she  was  appointed  to  sweep  and  arrange,  the 
shop.  That  week  commenced  joyously  for  Mary,  as  she 
watched  the  little  fishes  darting  about  in  their  cool  basin, 
the  birds  as  each  called  to  his  mate,  and,  more  than  all, 
as  she  inhaled  the  breath  of  the  fresh  morning  air,  Avhen 
she  opened  the  large  windows,  and  assisted  Miss  Turner 
in  watering  her  plants.  The  exercise  and  enjoyment 
exhilarated  her,  and  she  was  heard  for  the  first  time 
singing  about  the  shop. 

Miss  Turner,  who  had  a  kind  heart,  but  was  not 
given  to  conversation,  turned  to  her  in  surprise  and  said, 
"  Why,  Mary,  who  would  have  thought  you  could  have 
sung  like  that !  Here  is  something,"  she  added,  as  she 


92  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 

looked  over  the  letters  the  penny  post  had  just  brought 
in,  "that  I  hope  will  not  make  you  cry."  With  this 
she  gave  Mary  a  letter  with  the  Moreland  stamp. 

"  O  Miss  Turner,"  said  Mary  eagerly,  "  where  shall 
I  go  ?  I  do  wish  I  had  some  little  place  where  I  could 
be  alone  for  a  few  minutes." 

"  Go  to  the  fitting-room,"  said  she  kindly,  "  I  will 
finish  your  work  here." 

Mary  longed  to  hug  that  short,  plain-looking  person, 
but  she  refrained,  and  merely  saying,  "O  thank  you, 
thank  you,"  she  ran  to  the  fitting-room,  where  she  de- 
voured, amid  tears,  and  smiles,  and  warm  heart-beatings, 
her  first  letter  from  home. 

Dear,  lovely  Moreland  !  How  precious  it  was  to  her 
now,  though  she  had  so  longed  to  get  away !  She  began 
the  letter  again. 

Moreland,  May,  IS—. 

MY  DEATCEST  DAUGHTER  :  — 

Your  very  nice  letter  was  welcomed  by  the  Rectory 
in  general,  but  particularly  by  your  father,  who  is  most 
happy  to  claim  as  a  daughter  one  who  is  so  nearly  all 
he  could  wish.  Always  write  to  me  about  yourself; 
there  is  no  subject  upon  which  you  can  write  so  accept- 


OR    MY    DUTY.  93 

ably.  While  I  have  your  confidence,  by  the  blessing 
of  God,  I  can  direct  you  in  the  right  way.  Parts  of 
your  letter  I  read  to  the  assembled  family,  including 
Jeanette,  Arthur,  and  Ralph,  while  other  portions,  being 
confidential,  of  course  are  sacred.  Your  judgment  was 
correct,  about  writing  mere  letters  of  friendship  on  Sun- 
day. It  certainly  is  not  a  work  of  necessity.  There  is 
no  danger,  in  our  time,  of  keeping  Sunday  too  strictly 
for  hallowed  purposes ;  the  tendencies  of  the  age  are  in 
a  contrary  direction.  I  am  not  at  all  surprised  at  your 
indignant  feelings,  caused  by  the  treatment  you  received 
in  the  house  of  God.  I  think  no  lady  or  gentleman 
would  have  been  guilty  of  such  a  breach  of  courtesy, 
and  certainly  no  follower  of  Christ.  I  was  more  angry 
than  you,  when  I  read  your  simple  account ;  an  insult 
offered  to  one  of  my  children  affects  me  more  than  one 
offered  to  myself.  But  if  we  can  bring  ourselves  to  feel 
sorry  for  those  who  have  thus  far  unchristianized  them- 
selves, and  pray  God  "  to  give  them  repentance  and 
better  minds,"  we  fulfil  the  "royal  law  of  love." 

I  am  most  happy  that  you  go  to  St.  Joseph's  Church. 

I  have  written  to  Rev.  Dr.  Z to  have  a  pastor's  care 

of  you.     He  is  a  most  excellent  man,  if  report  speaks 


94  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 

correctly,  —  a  man  of  vast  benevolence  and  earnest 
piety.  I  trust  his  acquaintance  may  be  a  source  of 
pleasure  and  profit  to  you.  I  think  my  daughter  will 
meet  with  many  trials.  How  gladly  would  I  make  any 
possible  sacrifice  to  spare  you !  But  while  you  have  a 
sure  refuge  in  the  Rock  which  is  the  Christian's  shadow 
in  this  weary  land,  you  need  fear  nothing. 

I  am  grieved  that  the  most  of  Mrs.  Watkins's  family 
are  persons  with  whom  you  can  have  so  little  sympathy. 
You  remember  I  feared  this  want  of  companionship  for 
you.  But,  my  dear  Mary,  every  person,  however  small 
or  weak,  exerts  an  influence,  and  yours  I  am  confident 
cannot  be  otherwise  than  favorable. 

I  am  a  poor  hand  to  tell  news ;  I  leave  that  for  Jea- 
nette,  as  she  intends  writing  to  you  very  soon.  "\Ve  are 
daily  expecting  Mrs.  Marshall's  brother  from  California, 
report  says  with  plenty  of  money ;  he  will  probably  be  a 
member  of  our  family  for  the  present. 

Grace  and  Alice  send  love  and  kisses  to  you ;  and 
though  they  would  like  to  see  the  gold-fishes,  they  would 
a  "  good  deal  rather  see  dear  sister  Mary."  '  Grace  is  a 
good  child ;  I  have  no  fault  to  find  with  her ;  she  is 
obedient  and  docile,  and  a  great  help  to  Alice  in  her 


OR    MY    DUTY.  95 

task  of  self-government.  I  cannot  be  too  thankful  that 
I  was  led  to  receive  her  into  my  family.  Were  I  to  say 
we  miss  you,  it  would  be  but  a  doubtful  compliment. 
Your  place  in  my  family  can  never  be  filled  by  any 
but  yourself,  and  I  think  it  will  be  a  matter  of  general 
rejoicing  at  the  Rectory  when  the  ten  months  are  ex- 
pired. Were  I  not  very  much  straitened  in  my  pecu- 
niary resources,  your  stay  should  be  shortened  to  six 
months. 

Your  Sunday  scholars  inquire  affectionately  for  you ; 
and  Ralph's  great  black  eyes  drank  in  eagerly  some 
portions  of  your  letter.  He  is  a  pet  with  the  Squire's 
family,  and  I  am  only  afraid  his  impetuous  nature  will 
not  receive  those  checks  that  arc  so  serviceable  in  early 
youth.  I  shall  look  for  your  letters  regularly;  do  not 
let  me  be  disappointed,  my  dear  daughter. 

"  The  Lord  bless  you,  and  keep  you,  and  cause  his  face 
to  shine  upon  you,  and  give  you  peace,"  is  the  prayer  of 

your 

AFFECTIONATE  FATITEK. 

Mary  was  aroused  from  the  reverie  into  which  she 
had  fallen,  after  reading  this  letter  for  the  fifth  time, 
by  the  harsh  tones  of  Mrs.  Watkins's  voice,  who,  in  a 


96      THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND  : 

most  excited  and  angry  manner,  was  calling  for  her. 
She  hastily  put  the  letter  into  a  safe  hiding-place,  and 
•went  out  to  meet  the  enraged  woman.  Mrs.  Watkins 
was  very  obstreperous.  She  had,  by  the  same  mail  that 
brought  Mary's  letter,  received  notice  of  the  failure  of 
a  certain  house  with  which  she  had  lai-ge  dealings.  She 
did  not  strike  Mary,  for  Miss  Turner  was  by ;  but  she 
took  her  very  roughly  by  the  arm,  and  pushed  her  into 
the  work-room.  The  girls  were  assembled,  and  Mary 
then  became  aware  that  she  had  spent  the  time  allotted 
to  breakfast,  in  poring  over  her  letter.  Unfortunate 
child  !  this  day,  begun  so  joyously,  ended  in  bitter  tears. 
Everything  went  wrong,  and  upon  her  poor  defenceless 
head  Mrs.  Watkins  vented  her  displeasure.  Those  cold 
gray  eyes,  whose  expression  chilled  you,  were  constantly 
fixed  upon  Mary  with  their  most  freezing  glance.  Her 
work  went  wrong,  and  she  was  kept  up  an  hour  after 
the  others  had  retired,  taking  out  a  seam  she  had  in- 
dustriously stitched  on  the  wrong  side.  Mrs.  Watkins 
remained  with  her,  still  glaring  at  Mary,  and  finally, 
when  the  tears  coursed  down  her  cheeks  and  almost 
blinded  her,  her  mistress  angrily  snatched  the  work  out 
of  her  hand,  boxed  her  ears,  and  sent  her  to  bed  in 


OR    MY    DUTY.  97 

the  dark.  The  days  were  very  weary  during  that  week, 
for  Mrs.  Watkins  carried  out  her  venom  by  forbidding 
Mary  to  go  into  the  shop.  At  length  Saturday  came, 
and  she  was  cheered  a  little  by  thoughts  of  a  coming 
day  of  rest.  In  the  afternoon,  Hetty  came  in  from  the 
shop,  and  said,  in  a  loud,  coarse  tone,  "  Come,  Miss 
Mope,  here  's  somebody  to  see  you  ;  he  's  a  parson,  I  '11 
be  bound.  I  hope  he  '11  make  you  confess  your  stupidity. 
He  's  in  the  fitting-room,  if  you  want  to  see  him ;  I  knew 
the  girls  would  n't  want  him  here."  Mary's  face  crim- 
soned, and  her  heart  beat  quickly ;  she  was  much  re- 
lieved to  find  the  mistress  of  the  shop  gone  out.  Rev. 

Dr.  Z ,  for  it  was  he,  welcomed  Mary  very  kindly ; 

his  pleasant,  comforting  words  lifted  a  heavy  load  from 
her  heart,  and  from  that  time  she  ceased  to  be  so  en- 
tirely friendless  in  that  large  city.  Before  many  weeks, 
she  had  a  place  in  the  Sunday  school  and  in  the  church 
choir. 


98  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 


CHAPTER    XV. 

"It  is  not  wise  complaining, 
If  either  on  forbidden  ground, 
Or  where  it  was  not  to  be  found, 
We  sought  without  obtaining." 

"  Love,  from  the  country  of  its  birth, 
Brings  thoughts  in  sorrow,  or  in  mirth, 

That  sanctify  the  earth, 
Like  angels  earthward  tempest-driven 
And  waiting  to  return  to  Heaven." 

AS  THE  WEEKS  went  by,  Mary's  wonder  grew 
that  she  received  no  letter  from  Jeanette.  Mr. 
Marshall  had  written  again  and  again.  Even  little 
Grace  had  sent  her  sister  her  first  attempt  in  chirog- 
raphy  and  epistolary  composition  ;  but  neither  of  them 
said  much  about  Jeanette.  Spring  had  lengthened  into 
the  warm,  long  summer  days  of  June. 

Mary  was  again  appointed  to  sweep  the  shop.  A 
large  box  of  waste  paper  met  her  eye,  and  as  she  pushed 
it  back  into  its  place,  it  turned  over,  and  from  among 


OE    MY    DUTY.  99 

the  rubbish  dropped  a  letter.  It  was  directed  to  Mary, 
in  a  fair  Italian  hand,  which  she  knew  at  once  as  Jea- 
nette's.  A  flush  of  anger  passed  over  Mary's  pale  face, 
as  she  realized  how  very  near  she  had  come  to  losing 
it  entirely ;  but  she  was  so  glad  to  get  it  at  all,  that  she 
forgot  her  indignation  in  the  joy  that  it  was  not  wholly 
lost.  She  kissed  it  over  and  over  again,  and  then  hid 
it,  resolving  to  keep  it  till  she  had  leisure  to  read  it 
all  without  interruption.  The  opportunity  came  that 
very  day ;  for  Mrs.  Watkins  having  been  called  out  of 
town,  and  business  not  being  pressing,  Miss  Turner  gave 
the  girls  a  half-holiday.  The  mail  brought  Mary  another 
letter  from  her  father.  How  she  feasted  in  that  com- 
fortless attic  on  those  two  precious  missives  from  her 
best  friends  ! 

If  we  would  know  what  has  passed  in  Moreland,  all 
the  merry  month  of  May,  let  us  read  Jeanette's  letter. 

Moreland,  May,  18  — 
DKAREST  MARY  :  — 

Forgive  me  that  I  have  let  two  weeks  pass  since  I 
received  your  note,  without  writing  you  ;  you  will  not 
wonder  when  I  tell  you  why.  I  wish  you  were  here 
now ;  you  were  always  wiser  than  I.  I  cannot  bear 


100     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

that  all  the  sweet  sensibility,  and  loving  sympathy,  with 
which  your  heart  always  answers  mine,  should  be  wasted 
where  you  are.  Our  dear  pastor  misses  you  sadly.  I 
was  at  the  Rectory  yesterday,  and  he  looked  so  very 
grave,  I  had  almost  said  stern,  and  said  so  few  words  to 
me,  that  I  asked  Josephine  if  anything  troubled  him ; 
and  she  told  me  a  little  bit  of  family  gossip,  which  opened 
my  eyes  to  many  things  that  are  passed.  You  were 
always  the  one,  Josephine  says,  that  kept  all  messages 
and  requests  for  Mr.  Marshall,  when  he  was  gone  from 
home.  Mrs.  Marshall  is  careless  and  forgetful.  Night 
before  last,  Susan  Dexter  sent  for  Mr.  Marshall,  to  come 
down  to  the  Glen  and  see  her  poor  miserable  husband, 
who  was  very  sick  and  in  great  distress  of  mind.  Mr. 
Marshall  was  gone  away  when  the  message  came,  and 
when  he  reached  home,  late  at  night,  Mrs.  Marshall  did 
not  forget  the  errand,  but  thought  it  just  as  well  to  wait 
till  morning.  As  they  sat  down  to  breakfast,  she  told 
her  husband  of  the  message.  Josephine  said  she  never 
saw  him  look  so  "  awful."  His  face  was  pale  as  death ; 
he  said  not  a  word,  but,  rising  from  his  untasted  meal, 
left  the  house.  He  returned  in  about  two  hours,  and 
did  not  leave  the  study  for  that  day  and  night,  and  tasted 


OR    MY    DUTY.  101 

nothing.  They  heard,  in  the  course  of  the  day,  that  Jack 
Dexter  died  in  the  night,  calling  in  great  distress  for  his 
clergyman.  Is  n't  it  dreadful  ? 

But  this  is  not  what  I  intended  to  write  when  I  com- 
menced ;  perhaps  I  ought  not  to  have  written  it ;  but  I 
felt  so  much  for  our  dear  pastor,  I  could  not  but  tell  you, 
and  beg  you,  if  possible,  to  hasten  your  return. 

Do  you  know  Arthur  is  going  back  to  college  in  a 
few  weeks,  and,  Mary,  I  may  tell  you,  I  did  not  know 
how  dear  he  was  to  me  till  now.  lie  has  asked  my 
father's  consent  to  our  engagement ;  but  papa  thinks  we 
are  too  young ;  I  think  mamma's  persuasions  may  induce 
him  to  let  us  correspond.  Virginia  thinks  me  very  fool- 
ish, and  laughs  at  me  continually ;  but,  dear  Mary,  you 
will  not  think  me  foolish,  when  I  tell  you  I  never  thought 
I  could  feel  for  any  one  as  I  do  for  Arthur.  He  seems 
like  a  part  of  myself;  I  am  unhappy  when  he  is  away 
till  he  returns ;  my  inmost  thoughts  are  all  his.  All  this 
spring  seems  like  a  sweet  dream.  I  do  not  know  how  long 
we  might  have  gone  on  as  we  were,  for  we  never  spoke 
of  love,  till  this  summons  from  college  came  to  part  us ; 
and  yet  we  were  daily  growing  into  each  other's  life.  It 
seems  to  me  no  engagement  could  make  us  more  truly 
9* 


102  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND : 

one  in  heart.  Arthur  leaves  us  in  about  three  weeks, 
and  it  will  be  many  months  before  we  meet  again.  If 
I  only  had  you  here,  Mary,  I  could  bear  the  separation 
better,  for  I  could  talk  with  you  of  him,  and  there  is  no 
one  else  to  whom  I  could  speak  in  this  way. 

The  whole  village  is  astir  now  with  the  coming  of 
Mrs.  Marshall's  brother,  Mr.  Anthony  Maurice.  He 
makes  his  home  at  the  Rectory.  He  is  a  strange  being ; 
there  is  something  fascinating  in  his  soft  hazel  eye,  and 
yet,  when  he  looks  at  me,  I  am  reminded  always  of  the 
fabulous  story  of  the  snake  and  the  bird.  Now  I 
think  of  it,  Mrs.  L.  M.  Child  says  it  is  not  fabulous. 
Mr.  Maurice  is  much  admired  in  the  village,  is  very  lib- 
eral in  his  gifts  to  the  church,  and  lias,  I  think,  helped 
the  family  at  the  Rectory  in  a  pecuniary  way.  He  is 
immensely  rich,  so  says  gossip.  Perhaps  it  is  unchari- 
table for  me  to  say  it,  but  his  liberality  does  not  seem  to 
proceed  from  a  desire  to  do  good,  but  from  "  fancy's 
freaks."  Arthur  does  not  like  him,  though  he  has  not 
said  so  to  any  one  but  me.  Mr.  Maurice  has  a  fine  tenor 
voice,  and  will  lead  our  singing  at  church.  Josephine 
does  her  best  in  your  place  in  the  choir.  She  is  much 
improved  of  late,  —  "  softened,"  Arthur  says. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  103 

How  you  will  long,  in  the  hot  days  of  summer,  to  go 
forth  into  the  cool,  green  fields  of  Moreland  !  When  will 
you  come  again  ?  I  am  going  forward  to  confirmation, 
dear  Mary,  alone,  on  Trinity  Sunday.  I  shall  hear  your 
gentle  voice  whisper,  "  Courage,"  to  my  fainting  heart. 
Dear,  kind  Mr.  Marshall !  How  much  more  sympathy 
he  has  for  every  -troubled  soul,  than  one  would  suppose 
by  his  manner !  When  I  spoke  to  him  about  coming 
forward,  he  seemed  to  know  all  my  thoughts,  my  doubts, 
my  difficulties,  at  once ;  and  led  me  so  gently  and  kindly 
to  look  at  every  doubt,  and  solved  by  his  kind  persua- 
sions every  difficulty,  that  now  I  feel  as  reluctant  to  go 
back,  or  wait  longer,  as  I  once  did  to  go  forward.  I 
have  only  one  wish  ungratified,  that  Arthur  was  going 
with  me. 

I  have  written  you  a  long  letter,  do  give  me  one  in 
return,  and  that  speedily.  Remember, 

"  A  letter  timely  writ,  is  a  rivet  in  the  chain  of  affection." 
Yours  lovingly, 

JKAKETTE. 


104     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

"  The  silence  of  a  daughter  who  should  have  written  of  her  welfare 
Racketh  a  father's  bosom  with  sharp-cutting  fears." 

TUPPEK. 

THE    BUSY   season  was   now   over  at  Mrs.  "Wat- 
kins's  shop ;  but  to  Mary  there  came  little  leisure. 
The  girls,  one  after  another,  went  away,  their  seasons  of 
service  being  ended,  till  Maiy,  Nellie,  and  Ann  were  the 
sole  occupants  of  the  garret 

Mary's  face  grew  every  day  paler  and  thinner,  and, 
as  business  diminished,  Mrs.  Watkins  cut  off  the  rations, 
till  now  the  girls  sometimes  suffered  from  hunger.  The 
long,  sultry  days  of  July  came  upon  Mary  like  the  rays 
of  the  noonday  sun  upon  a  plant  nurtured  in  the  shade : 
she  wilted  and  drooped.  Her  energies,  too,  gave  way, 
and  weeks  went  and  came,  and  she  could  not  rouse  her- 
self sufficiently  to  write  to  those  she  loved.  Rising  at 
the  earliest  dawn,  from  a  couch  where  she  had  slept  a 
short  and  troubled  sleep,  and  working  till  ten  at  night 


OR    MY    DUTY.  105 

without  intermission,  when  Sunday  came,  much  as  her 
soul  longed  for  the  services  of  her  beloved  church,  she 
could  only  lie  upon  her  bed  and  rest.  Nellie  and  Ann 
could  better  endure  the  close  air  and  confinement  of  their 
life.  Nellie,  who  had  become  a  constant  attendant  at 
church  with  Mary,  would  IIOAV  go  without  her,  and  re- 
turn to  sit  by  her  side,  read  to  her  from  the  books  she 
loved  best,  or  repeat  to  her  what  she  could  of  the  sermon. 
It  was  at  this  time  that  reports  of  the  frightful  rav- 
ages of  cholera  in  a  neighboring  street  startled  the  usually 
unmoved  Mrs.  "VVatkins.  But  it  was  only  for  herself  she 
was  frightened,  and  she  determined  on  immediate  flight. 
She  wished  Miss  Turner  to  take  care  of  the  shop  and 
the  girls,  in  her  absence.  But  to  this  proposition  Miss 
Turner  turned  an  absolutely  deaf  ear.  Finally,  it  was 
concluded  that  Mrs.  Watkins  should  retain  the  house, 
renting  the  shop  only,  as  an  auction-room,  for  a  few 
weeks.  By  this  arrangement,  she  could  come  back 
when  she  chose,  and  not  be  losing  altogether  during  her 
absence.  Miss  Tui'ner  and  Ann  were  to  go  to  their 
friends.  Nelly  begged  hard  to  accompany  Mrs.  Wat- 
kins  to  Moreland,  as  she  had  no  friends,  and  Mary 
pleaded  most  earnestly  for  her  with  tears  ;  but  Mrs. 


106     THE  RECTORY  OP  MORELAND: 

"Watkins  was  very  angry,  wondered  "if  they  supposed 
she  had  a  bank  to  go  to,  that  she  could  pay  Nelly's 
board  !  She  must  go  to  service  somewhere,  —  she  could 
find  places  enough."  Mary  held  the  orphan  Nelly  to 
her  heart  that  night,  and  prayed  for  guidance.  They 
both  thought  of  Rev.  Dr.  Z ,  and,  obtaining  permis- 
sion to  walk  out  together,  while  Nelly  was  looking  for 
a  place,  they  went  at  once  to  his  house.  He  heard 
their  tale  of  sorrow,  and  took  the  homeless  stranger  in, 
and  she  became  an  inmate  of  his  family.  Mary  parted 
from  her  with  the  promise  of  something  from  Moreland;  — 
but  they  never  met  again.  The  sweeping  scourge  found 
Nelly,  even  in  her  shelter  in  the  household  of  the  good ; 
but  (as  Maiy  afterward  learned  with  much  comfort)  not 
before  she  had  been  "  made  a  member  of  Christ,  a  child 
of  God,  and  an  inheritor  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 
*  *  *  *  * 

"  Get  everything  ready  to  night,  Mary,  for  I  can't  wait 
a  minute  for  you  in  the  mornin',  —  the  cars  go  at  six,"  said 
Mrs.  Watkins,  as  she  locked  the  last  door  leading  from 
the  house  into  the  shop.  "  0,  stop !  here  is  a  letter  for 
you  ;  they  might  have  saved  themselves  the  trouble,  if 
they  had  waited  awhile"; — and  she  tossed  Mary  a  letter 


OB    MY    DUTY.  107 

in  the  well-known  hand  of  her  beloved  parent.  It  was 
very  short,  and  smote  Mary's  heart  with  a  pang  of  re- 
morse. She  felt  that  no  weakness  should  have  prevented 
her  writing  a  line  to  him. 

Morelnml,  July  25,  18—, 
Feast  of  St.  James  the  Apostle. 

MY  DEAR  DAUGHTER:  — 

I  am  assured  by  your  silence,  which  has  now  contin- 
ued nearly  four  weeks,  that  something  is  Avrong  Avith 
you ;  but  it  grieves  me  that  anything  should  hinder  you 
from  writing  me.  Are  you  ill  ?  Ought  I  not  to  be  in- 
formed at  once  ?  Are  you  in  trouble  ?  Who  is  your 
nearest  and  dearest  friend  ?  Mary,  the  services  in 
church  to-day  were  mournful  to  me,  because  I  have  no 
tidings  of  my  much-loved  daughter. 

Are  you  doing  your  duty  ?  If  I  do  not  hear  this 
week,  I  shall  go  to  New  York  myself  on  Monday 
morning. 

Your  ever  affectionate 

FATHER. 

"  To  Moreland  can  it  be  ?  "  said  Mary  to  herself,  as  she 
looked  from  the  swift-flying  car,  far  off  in  the  direction 
of  her  home. 


108     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

"  You  '11  faint  away,"  said  Mrs.  'Watkins  when  they 
had  gone  about  half  the  journey ;  "  there  aint  the  least 
bit  of  color  in  your  cheeks  or  lips.  Oh !  I  recollect,"  she 
added,  "  you  haint  eat  a  mouthful  to-day,"  —  and  she  took 
a  cracker  from  her  carpet-bag,  and  gave  it  to  Mary. 

"  Moreland  station,"  shouted  the  conductor.  Mary  did 
not  stir,  till  Mrs.  Watkins,  with  a  violent  pull,  brought  her 
back  to  life ;  and  a  man  lifted  her  in  his  arms  from  the 
platform.  It  was  dusk,  but  the  moon  was  rising,  and 
Mary  preferred  to  walk  to  her  home,  and  send  for  her 
trunk  in  the  morning ;  she  thought  the  walk  would  do 
her  good.  So,  with  her  small  carpet-bag  on  her  arm,  she 
took  the  roundabout  road  that  led  to  the  church,  without 
going  through  the  village.  Her  heart  beat  quickly  as 
she  stepped  along  that  well-known  path.  Every  stone 
was  dear :  it  seemed  to  her  she  would  willingly  lie  down 
in  some  of  those  nooks,  so  precious  to  her  childhood's 
memory,  and  sleep  away  her  life.  She  could  hear  the 
distant  hum  of  merry  voices  from  the  village  street ;  the 
boys  were  on  the  green  playing,  —  probably  Ralph  was 
there,  her  darling  brother.  It  appeared  like  an  age 
since  she  had  seen  him. 

She  hurried  on.     Whom  should  she  see  first  ?     Her 


Oil    MY    DUTY.  109 

limbs,  weakened  by  confinement  and  hard  fare,  trembled. 
The  church,  with  its  holy  walls,  first  met  her  eye,  as  she 
ascended  a  slight  rising  ground,  and  came  near  her  home. 
There  was  a  light  in  the  study  at  the  Rectory,  and  she 
could  see  a  tall  shadow  flitting  by  the  window.  A  horse 
and  carriage  stood  at  the  gate :  a  pang  of  disappointment 
came  over  her,  —  she  should  meet  strangers.  She  lis- 
tened ;  there  were  voices  in  the  garden.  As  she  quietly 
entered  the  hall,  she  saw  that  the  study  door  stood  open ; 
but  before  her  resolve  to  go  immediately  there  could  be 
carried  out,  she  was  folded  to  the  heart  of  her  father. 

But  she  spoke  not :  nature  had  been  taxed  too  far,  and 
she  was  carried  lifeless  to  the  study  sofa.  It  was  a  very 
long  time  before  Mary  gave  tlui  first  sign  of  returning 
consciousness ;  so  long,  that  Mr.  Marshall  had  called  in 
Dr.  Arnold,  who  pronounced  it  something  more  than  an 
ordinary  fainting-fit.  When  she  did  open  her  eyes,  it 
was  to  gaze  in  a  bewildered  manner  into  the  grave  face 
of  her  father,  who  had  never  left  her  side.  Mrs.  Mar- 
shall was  also  there,  and  Josephine. 

"  Am  I  here,  here  with  you  ? "  she  said,  in  an  unnat- 
ural voice. 

Mr.  Marshall  took  her  cold  hand  in  his,  as  he  said, 
10 


110     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND C 

d 

"  Yes,  my  daughter,  you  are  here,  thank  God !  but  you 
must  not  exert  yourself,"  as  he  saw  her  attempt  to  rise, 
"or  speak,"  he  added,  as  he  put  his  finger  on  her  lips. 
"  Dr.  Arnold  has  ordered  perfect  quiet."  And  he  gave 
her  a  composing  draught.  "Take  this,  and  to-morrow 
you  may  be  able  to  talk." 

Mary  instinctively  obeyed  :  but  was  it  a  dream,  or 
reality,  that  Josephine  stooped  and  kissed  her  pale  fore- 
head. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  HI 


CHAPTER    XYII. 

"  0,  what  may  man  within  him  hide, 
Though  angel  on  the  outward  side !  " 

<!  Talents  angel  bright, 
If  wanting  worth,  are  shining  instruments 
111  false  ambition's  hand  to  finish  faults 
Illustrious,  and  give  infamy  renown." 

YOCXG. 

A  NATURALLY  GOOD  constitution  was  in  Mary's 
favor,  and  after  a  week's  confinement  to  her  cham- 
ber she  was  able  to  take  her  place  with  the  family  at  the 
table.  During  her  stay  in  her  room  she  had  explained 
to  Mr.  Marshall's  satisfaction  her  sudden  return,  and 
asked  his  forgiveness  for  her  apparent  neglect  in  not 
writing. 

From  his  sister's  lips,  Anthony  Maurice  first  learned 
Mary's  history,  from  the  day  she  came  as  a  little  child  to 
Spring  Cottage.  It  was  dressed  in  colors  of  Ellen's  own 
fancy,  retained  enough  of  truth  to  satisfy  her  conscience. 


112     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

From  Mrs.  Marshall  lie  gathered  that  Mary  was  a  home- 
less, friendless  girl,  a  protegee  of  her  husband's,  a  girl  of 
uncommon  pride,  and  without  any  deep  principle.  An- 
thony Maurice  was  quite  certain  with  regard  to  the  pride 
when  he  was  introduced  to  Mary,  and  she  merely  bowed 
coldly,  without  extending  her  hand  to  meet  his.  From 
that  moment  he  determined  to  make  himself  agreeable  to 
Mary  Evans.  To  this  end  he  treated  her  with  great 
respect,  was  particularly  deferential  in  his  address,  call- 
ing her  always  "  Miss  Evans,"  or  "  Miss  Mary,"  while 
Josephine  was  "  Josey,"  and  Mrs.  Marshall  was  "  Nellie." 

Mr.  Marshall  was  determined  to  do  all  that  was  in  his 
power  to  restore  the  bloom  to  Mary's  cheek,  therefore  he 
strictly  forbade  her  having  any  care  of  the  children  or 
house ;  and  though  Mary's  desire  for  the  comfort  of 
others  led  her  always  to  lend  a  helping  hand,  yet  she 
had  much  leisure  for  walking,  riding,  and  reading,  but 
particularly  music. 

When  Maurice  discovered  Mary's  genius  for  music, 
and  learned  that  it  had  received  no  scientific  culture, 
-he  earnestly  devoted  himself  to  her  instruction.  Mr. 
Marshall  was  pleased  that  Mary  had  an  opportunity  of 
improving  her  musical  powers,  and  Josephine  and  she 


OK    MY    DUTY.  113 

spent  many  hours  with  Maurice  in  the  cultivation  of  this 
attractive  science. 

The  shyness  with  which  Mary  had  first  met  Maurice 
wore  away  by  constant  association.  Gradually,  conver- 
sation and  poetry  would  occupy  a  portion  of  the  time 
allotted  to  music-lessons,  and  by  and  by  Maurice  would 
meet  the  young  ladies  in  their  walks,  or  invite  them  to 
show  him  some  of  the  pleasant  drives  about  Moreland. 
Jeanette  made  one  of  the  party  but  seldom,  for  her  time 
this  month  was  spent  iu  writing  long  letters  to  Arthur, 
and  in  visiting  her  relations  in  Canada.  These  were 
delightful  days  to  Mary ;  she,  simple-hearted  girl,  never 
dreaming  of  danger  to  herself  or  Josephine. 

It  was  something  new  to  Mary,  this  romance  of  life ; 
hers  had  been  heretofore  stern  reality.  She  would  sit 
by  Maurice  while  he  repeated  long  passages  from  his 
favorite  authors,  and  forget  the  man  in  the  borrowed 
beauty  of  his  poetry.  It  was  not  so  with  Josephine ;  her 
eye  would  glisten,  and  her  cheek  flush,  but  the  tribute  of 
her  heart  was  given  to  him  who  opened  these  beauties  to 
her,  and  not  to  the  thoughts  he  repeated.  Mary  would 
leave  him,  and  go  about  other  duties  with  her  soul  filled 
with  high  and  noble  thoughts,  and  Mr.  Maurice  would 
10* 


114     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND  I 

be  remembered  only  as  a  pleasant  companion  ;  while 
Josephine  went  to  her  room  to  meditate  on  what  she 
had  heard,  and  to  gather  from  those  thoughts  something 
addressed  to  herself.  Anthony  Maurice  stood  somewhat 
in  awe  before  the  pure  innocence  of  Mary's  heart,  and 
he  dared  not  repeat  to  her,  as  he  did  to  Josephine,  tender 
sentiments  from  Moore  and  Byron. 

Mr.  Marshall's  mind  and  thoughts  were  at  this  time 
unusually  occupied  in  considering  a  call  he  had  received 
to  the  parish  of  St.  Peter's  Church,  in  the  large  town  of 

S .     Moreland  was  very  dear  to  him  ;  the  people 

were  the  first  flock  under  his  pastoral  care.  The  matter 
required  deliberation,  and  for  weeks  he  gave  himself 
wholly  to  the  consideration  of  the  subject.  Thus  the 
young  people  were  left  quite  to  themselves.  Mrs.  Mar- 
shall had  no  fear  of  her  brother's  influence,  and  was  only 
glad  that  Mary  and  Josephine  could  amuse  him.  "  It 
must  be  dull,"  she  would  say,  "  coming  as  he  does  from 
the  most  stirring  life,  and  she  hoped  the  girls  would  try 
to  make  it  pleasant  for  him,  for  how  nice  it  would  be  if 
he  would  only  build  in  Moreland,  as  he  had  often  talked 
of  doing."  Mrs.  Lee,  too,  with  all  her  pride  and  stateli- 
ness,  stooped  to  welcome  Mary  at  the  Mansion-House, 


OR    MY    DUTY.  115 

for  she  was  always  accompanied  by  Mr.  Maurice ;  and 
Mr.  Maurice  had  a  fortune,  and  she  had  a  daughter. 
Ralph  learned  to  look  favorably  upon  Mr.  Maurice  for 
a  time ;  for  had  he  not  warmly  defended  Mary  when 
Virginia  spoke  scornfully  of  her,  and  had  he  not  said 
he  thought  her  "  quite  fascinating  by  her  simplicity  and 
naivete"  —  different,  as  he  expressed  it,  " from  Avomen  in 
general,  whose  hearts  were  eaten  out  with  fashion  and 
folly"? 

A  picnic  was  proposed  to  vary  the  monotony  of  coun- 
try life ;  and  young  and  old  joined  in  the  preparations. 
Where  should  they  go  ?  Many  were  the  beautiful  spots 
about  Moreland  for  these  social  gatherings ;  but  the  voice 
of  the  young  people  was  unanimous  for  "  Lily  Lake." 
This  lake  was  a  sheet  of  crystal  water,  two  miles  long 
and  scarce  half  a  mile  wide.  Over  its  smooth  surface, 
sparkling  and  glittering  in  the  sunbeams,  were  scattered 
lilies  of  many  varieties,  among  which  the  pond  lily 

"  to  the  light 
Her  chalice  reared  of  silver  bright," 

looking  out  fairest  and  loveliest.  One  side  of  the  lake 
was  shut  in  by  high,  steep  banks,  receding  from  the 
shore,  leaving  a  wide  carriage-path,  and  a  space  of  sev- 


116     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND : 

oral  acres,  shaded  by  scattered  pines,  while  the  banks 
•were  covered  with  a  thick  growth  of  the  same  tree.  The 
carriage-road  wound  around  the  borders  of  the  lake  for 
half  a  mile  or  more,  when  it  suddenly  terminated  in  a 
footpath,  sufficiently  wide  for  two  to  walk  together,  and 
so  overshadowed  and  secluded  as  to  have  been  named 
"Lovers'  Retreat."  The  footpath,  indeed,  was  well 
known  to  all  the  young  lovers  in  Moreland,  and  even 
frequented  by  the  old,  who  had  romance  enough  left  to 
care  for  secluded  walks. 

As  in  all  country  places  in  New  England,  beaux  were 
a  rarer  article  than  belles.  Mr.  Maurice,  as  his  share, 
therefore,  wished  to  take  to  the  picnic  Josephine,  Vir- 
ginia, and  Mary.  Mrs.  Lee  wondered  that  Maiy  should 
wish  to  go,  and  Virginia  suggested  that  she  might  ride 
with  the  Hector  and  his  lady.  But  Maurice  put  an  end 
to  all  suggestions  by  saying,  "  If  Mary  docs  not  go  with 
me,  I  '11  not  go."  For  once,  Mrs.  Lee  expressed  herself 
at  fault  in  discovering  the  motive;  but  as  it  happened, 
Mrs.  Marshall  could  not  go,  and  Mary  took  her  place  by 
the  side  of  Mr.  Marshall  in  the  family  chaise,  much  to  the 
annoyance  of  Anthony  Maurice,  who  was  always  unable 
to  conceal  his  vexation  if  he  failed  to  have  his  own  way 


OB    MY    DUTY.  117 

in  the  most  trifling  matter.  The  day  was  fine,  and  Na- 
ture did  her  utmost  to  help  the  young  to  enjoyment ;  but 
one  uncomfortable  spirit  can  mar  the  pleasure  of  a  crowd. 
Mr.  Maurice,  having  been  thwarted  in  his  first  purpose, 
enjoyed  nothing  himself,  and  did  what  he  could  to  prevent 
the  enjoyment  of  the  day  by  others.  lie  was  in  one  of 
his  moods,  as  the  young  men  chose  to  call  it.  The  elder 
part  of  the  company  engaged  in  social  chitchat,  but  the 
young  people,  although  there  was  mirth  and  laughter 
among  them,  and  running  up  and  down  the  slippery 
banks,  and  sailing  on  the  water,  all  felt  how  one  string 
out  of  tune  will  make  discord  of  the  sweetest  music.  Mr. 
Maurice,  after  a  while,  withdrew  himself  from  the  rest  of 
the  company,  and  wandered  moodily  along  the  banks  of 
the  lake.  When  the  tables  were  arranged,  and  every- 
thing prepared  for  their  repast,  it  was  proposed  to  send 
for  Mr.  Maurice,  who  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  One  after 
another  was  suggested,  as  the  fittest  person  to  go  after 
him,  but  all  declined.  At  length  some  one  mentioned 
Mary  as  the  youngest ;  she  made  no  objections,  but 
tripped  gayly  off  towards  the  end  of  the  carriage-way. 
She  knew  the  secluded  path  well,  and  had  often  walked 
there  with  Jeanette  :  she  went  along  hastily  nearly  to  its 


118     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

termination,  and  was  about  turning  back,  thinking  Mr. 
Maurice  must  have  taken  some  other  way,  when  she  was 
startled  by  his  low,  musical  voice. 

"  Is  it  you,  Mary  ?  "  he  said  ;  "  come  here,"  —  and  he 
beckoned  to  a  seat  by  his  side,  on  a  mossy  bank  retired 
from  the  immediate  pathway. 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  she  said  cheerfully ;  "  I  cannot 
stay;  I  was  requested  to  call  you  to  join  us  in  taking 
our  refreshments,  which  are  waiting  for  you ;  will  you 
come?" 

"  O  Mary,"  he  replied  with  a  deep  sigh,  as  he  rose  to 
meet  her,  "  I  wish  I  was  as  good,  and  as  happy,  as  you." 

"  Not  good,"  she  said  gravely,  as  he  came  towards  her 
and  took  her  arm  in  his.  "Why  should  you  not  be 
happy  ?  "  She  looked  up  into  his  face  with  .«o  clear  and 
kind  a  look,  that  for  an  instant  he  did  wish  that  his  heart 
would  cast  as  pure  a  shadow  on  his  brow. 

" Mary,"  he  said  sadly,  "I  have  no  mother.  O,  if  she 
had  lived,  what  might  I  not  have  been  !  And  what  am 
I  ?  A  bold,  bad  man ;  so  bad,  that  those  you  read  of 
are  angels  in  comparison."  Mary  tried  to  withdraw  her 
arm  from  his.  "  Nay,  Mary,  do  not  scorn  me  because  I 
own  I  am  vile;  I  would  be  better.  I  sometimes  long 


OR    MY    DUTY.  119 

for  goodness  and  purity,  as  a  man  dying  of  thirst  longs 
and  reaches  forth  in  vain  for  water." 

"  Not  in  vain,"  said  Mary  slowly  and  sadly,  for  her 
sympathies  were  touched. 

"  I  have  no  mother,"  he  said  again,  with  a  deeper 
sigh.  "  I  remember  the  day  she  died  ;  I  Avas  about  seven 
years  of  age.  She  laid  her  thin,  white  hand  on  my  head, 
and  called  down  blessings  ;  but  they  never  came.  I 
grew  up  a  wilful,  wicked  boy,  and  I  am  what  you  see 
me,  a  wilful,  Avicked  man.  O  my  mother  ! "  He  placed 
his  hands  before  his  face  to  hide  his  emotion. 

"But  you  have  a  sister,"  said  Mary  feebly,  for  her 
feelings  were  beginning  to  be  painful. 

Mr.  Maurice  looked  into  Mary's  face  with  that  look 
which  had  caused  Jeanette's  dislike  of  the  man,  and 
which  had  often  startled  Mary. 

"  A  sister  ! "  he  said  scornfully  ;  "  Maiy,  I  wish  you 
were  my  sister." 

""Well,"  said  Mary,  with  assumed  badinage  and  gayety, 
as  they  were  approaching  the  end  of  the  path,  and  were 
coming  into  the  carriage-road,  "  if  I  were  your  sister,  I 
should  tell  you  to  smooth  your  brow,  and  look  kind  and 
pleasant,  and  make  yourself  a  little  more  agreeable." 


120  THE  .RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 

She  attempted  to  withdraw  her  arm  from  his  and  go 
to  the  company,  Avho,  wearied  with  waiting,  had  assem- 
bled round  the  table,  and  were  helping  themselves  to  the 
viands. 

Mrs.  Lee  whispered  something  to  Virginia  about  u  such 
boldness."  Virginia  repeated  wliat  Mrs.  Mai-shall  had 
said,  and  volunteered  her  most  scornful  look,  as  Mary  ap- 
proached the  table,  with  Mr.  Maurice  by  her  side,  looking 
more  at  his  ease  than  he  had  done  during  the  day.  The 
remainder  of  the  evening  passed  delightfully.  Anthony 
Maurice,  restored  to  good  humor,  did  everything  he  could 
(and  his  resources  were  numerous)  for  the  entertainment 
of  the  company.  After  singing  several  solos,  which  he 
accomplished  with  power  and  pathos,  Virginia  proposed 
maliciously  that  Maiy  should  favor  the  company  with  a 
song.  Mary  had  never  sung  before  so  large  an  assem- 
bly, except  in  church;  and  there  she  did  not  so  much 
remember  that  the  congregation  were  present,  as  that 
God  was  there.  But  now  there  were  many  gazing  at 
her,  and  some  with  looks  she  could  not  understand,  as 
Mr.  Maurice  laid  his  hand  on  hers  and  begged  her  to  sing. 

Mr.  Marshall  saw  her  confusion,  and  heard  the  tone  of 
voice  in  which  Virginia  made  her  request,  and  coming 


OK    MY    DUTY.  121 

quietly  towards  her,  he  said,  gently,  "  Mary,  you  can  sing 
my  favorite, '  Hath  sorrow  thy  young  days  shaded,' "  — 
and  striking  into  the  air  with  his  fine,  manly  voice,  Mary 
succeeded  in  singing  the  song  through  in  a  sweet,  low 
tone. 

"  That 's  for  me,"  said  Mr.  Maurice,  in  a  whisper,  sit- 
ting on  the  other  side  from  Mr.  Marshall ;  '•'  I  '11  weep 
with  thee,  tear  for  tear." 

Mary  was  a  little  annoyed,  but  she  did  not  manifest 
it.  Mr.  Maurice  left  her  soon,  in  search  of  Josephine, 
with  whom  he  had  a  sentimental  walk,  and  concluded 
the  afternoon  by  a  conversation  with  Virginia,  made  up 
of  quick  repartee  and  cutting  sarcasm. 


11 


122     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

"  Dread  life  of  conflict !     Which  I  oft  compared 
To  the  agitation  of  a  brook,  that  runs 
Down  rocky  mountains,  buried  now  and  lost 
In  silent  pools,  now  in  strong  eddies  chained, 
But.never  to  be  charmed  to  gentleness : 
Its  best  attainments,  fits  of  such  repose 
As  timid  eyes  might  shrink  from  fathoming." 

'\VoiSDSWORTIf. 

THE  RETURN  from  the  picnic  was  not  as  quiet 
and  peaceful  for  all  the  company  as  for  the  Rec- 
tor and  his  adopted  daughter.  Mr.  Maurice's  horses, 
unused  to  standing  in  harness  as  they  had  been  all  day 
by  the  banks  of  Lily  Lnke,  became  exceedingly  restive 
and  unmanageable.  He  contrived  to  restrain  them  until 
he  had  deposited  Virginia  at  her  father's  house,  when,  as 
lie  stepped  on  the  wheel  to  take  his  seat  in  the  carriage, 
the  animals  started,  reared,  and  plunged,  tlirowing  him 
under  the  wheels,  and  running  away  with  Josephine  still 
inside  the  carriage.  They  were  soon  stopped,  however ; 


OR    MY    DUTY.  123 

but  Mr.  Maurice,  having  been  lifted  fix>m  the  ground,  found 
it  impossible  to  stand.  The  by-standers  would  have  carried 
him  into  Squire  Lee's,  but,  with  his  usual  authoritative 
manner,  lie  ordered  one  of  the  strong  laboring  men  about 
him  to  lift  him  into  the  carriage,  take  the  reins,  and  drive 
to  the  Rectory.  Poor  Josephine,  pale  with  terror,  was 
lifted  from  the  vehicle.  Mr.  Maurice  was  found  in  a  bad 
plight.  Dr.  Arnold  pronounced  the  result  of  the  acci- 
dent a  fracture  of  the  thigh,  Avhich  would  confine  him  to 
the  bed  for  six  weeks  at  least,  and  perhaps  lame  him  for 
life.  "  Sister  Elleir"  was  much  agitated  by  this  occur- 
rence, but  congratulated  herself  upon  having  Mary  at 
home  to  assist  in  the  care  of  her  brother.  "  Of  course," 
she  said,  "he  would  have  a  nurse,  but  he  would  want 
company  quite  as  much  as  care."  A  nurse  Avas  pro- 
vided, —  a  sleepy -looking  fellow,  who  cared  more  for  his 
tobacco  and  his  afternoon  nap  than  for  anything  else. 

Men  are  proverbially  uneasy  and  impatient  when  con- 
fined to  a  sick-bed  ;  but  Mr.  Maurice  was  cross,  irritable, 
sometimes  almost  unbearable.  He  would  not  take  the 
nourishment  prepared  by  the  nurse,  because  he  took  snuff; 
he  scolded  "Sister  Ellen"  till  she  shed  tears,  and  declared 
"  Anthony  was  a  dreadful  trial."  Josephine  and  Mary's 


124     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND : 

society  seemed  to  afford  him  all  the  comfort  he  was 
capable  of  receiving.  He  insisted  that  either  the  one 
or  the  other  should  read  to  him,  sing  to  him,  play  chess 
with  him,  or  amuse  him  in  some  way  all  the  day  long. 
Mary  did  what  she  could  for  him,  from  genuine  kindness 
of  heart,  and  sympathy  with  suffering.  She  thought  him 
very  wayward  and  whimsical,  and  she  was  sometimes 
frightened  when  he  would  press  her  hand  and  whisper, 
"  O  Mary,  if  I  was  as  good  and  pure  as  you  !  You  are  a 
dear,  dear  sister  to  me." 

Josephine's  motives  for  constant  attendance  on  the 
couch  of  suffering  Avere  far  different ;  and  though  Mau- 
rice was  fretful  and  cross,  he  would  sometimes  say  very 
tender  things  to  her,  —  words  that  she  would  cherish,  and 
with  which  she  fed  the  love  that  was  growing  up  in  her 
heart.  Little  did  Mr.  Marshall  know  of  the  web  that 
was  weaving  in  that  sick-room ;  for  he  had  much  sick- 
ness and  many  deaths  in  his  increasing  parish,  and  was 
little  at  home  during  the  first  weeks  of  Mr.  Maurice's  con- 
finement. The  books  Mr.  Maurice  chose  for  their  read- 
ing were  quite  new  to  Mary.  Her  choice  of  books  had 
been  guided  formerly  by  her  mother,  and  since  her  death 
by  Mr.  Marshall.  Once  or  twice  she  had  closed  the 


OB    MY    DUTY.  125 

volume  Mr.  Maurice  had  given  her  to  read  aloud,  saying, 
very  decidedly,  "I  would  rather  not  read  this  book." 
He  would  never  contend  on  that  point  Avith  her,  but 
simply  say,  "  Ah  !  you  little  Puritan,  you  '11  get  over 
that  by  and  by.  Josephine  is  not  so  squeamish ;  she 
will  read  it  to  me." 

All  this  time  Mary  was  far  from  happy.  She  saw 
little  of  her  father,  and  missed  those  pleasant  talks  she 
used  to  have  with  him.  Though  she  thought  she  was 
in  the  path  of  duty  when  she  obeyed  Mrs.  Marshall's 
instructions  to  do  what  she  could  for  the  comfort  and 
amusement  of  Mr.  Maurice,  daily  intercourse  with  a  mind 
so  unsettled,  and  a  heart  so  ungoverned  and  tainted  with 
the  breath  of  sin,  had  the  effect  to  make  her  at  least 
uncomfortable. 

She  had  retired  to  her  room  one  evening  with  that 
unaccountable  consciousness  that  something  is  going 
wrong,  which  all  mortals  doubtless  have  at  times.  It 
had  been  a  day  of  unusual  trials.  Mrs.  Marshall  had 
spoken  sharply  to  her,  because  she  resented  some  famil- 
iarity of  Mr.  Maurice  ;  and  Mr.  Maurice  had  scolded  Mrs. 
Marshall  for  her  fault  in  speaking,  in  the  most  bitter 
terms,  till  he  brought  tears  to  her  eyes,  and  Maiy  felt 
11* 


126    THE  RECTORY  OP  MORELAND: 

somehow  as  if  she  had  caused  dissension  in  the  family. 
The  moon  shone  full  into  her  chamber,  and  she  sat 
looking  out  into  the  churchyard.  A  slight  tap  at  her 
door  aroused  her  from  the  reverie  into  which  she  had 
fallen :  Josephine  entered,  wrapped  in  her  dressing-gown ; 
her  long  raven  hair  unbound  and  floating  about  her  like 
a  cloud,  and  her  dark  eyes  and  brunette  complexion 
lighted  with  an  unusual  glow.  She  came  and  knelt  on 
a  hassock  at  Mary's  feet,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  lap. 
Neither  spoke  for  some  time ;  at  length  Josephine,  with- 
out looking  up,  said,  "  You  will  not  think  me  veiy 
strange,  Mary ;  but  I  do  so  want  to  speak  to  some  one, 
and  you  can  understand  me.  You  must  know,  you  must 
have  seen,  my  love  for  —  Mr.  Maurice  ;  and  to-night,  O 
Mary  !  to-night,  he  told  his  love  for  me.  I  am  so  happy," 
she  added,  raising  her  head  and  resting  her  burning 
cheek  against  Mary's  hand.  Then,  lifting  her  large  eyes 
and  looking  searchingly  at  Mary,  she  said,  "  I  was  afraid 
he  was  not  all  mine." 

There  is  something  in  the  breast  of  every  woman, 
be  she  ever  so  young  and  untaught  in  the  ways  of  the 
world,  —  it  may  be  the  whispers  of  her  guardian  angel,  for 

"  They  for  us  fight, 
They  watch  and  duly  -ward,"  — 


OR    MY    DUTY.  127 

that  warns  her  of  the  approach  of  anything,  in  word  or 
deed,  that  may  dim  the  lustre  of  her  brightest  jewel.  A 
blush  of  deepest  crimson  dyed  Mary's  face,  neck,  and 
hands.  As  soon  as  her  heart-beating  would  let  her 
speak,  she  said,  "Josephine,  Mr.  Maurice  is  a  strange 
being :  I  pity  him,  but  I  could  never  trust  him."  Jo- 
sephine was  relieved.  Her  eyes  sunk,  and  the  dark 
lashes  closed  over  them,  as  she  said,  "  O  Mary,  he  has 
been  so  unfortunate  !  —  a  life  of  thwarted  purposes,  with 
no  one  to  guide  or  care  for  him ;  but  he  is  resolved  on 
better  things  now,  and  i.s  determined  to  fix  himself  some- 
where and  be  resj>ected."  Mary  smiled  faintly,  for  she 
thought  it  would  take  something  besides  fixation  to  make 
him  always  respected.  "  Mary,"  said  Josephine,  caress- 
ing the  hand  she  held,  "  I  used  to  think  you  were  so  cold 
and  stern,  there  could  be  no  sympathy  between  us  ;  but 
I  have  learned  to  prize  you  of  late."  The  teal's  rose  to 
Mary's  eyes  as  she  remembered  how  cold  and  severe 
Josephine  once  was  to  her,  but  she  only  said,  "Thank 
you,  Josie ;  I  have  tried  veiy  hard  to  win  your  love,  and 
I  am  glad  I  have  succeeded.  But  now  quiet  yourself 
for  the  night ;  I  feel  you  trembling,  and  think  you  need 
rest."  Josephine  obtained  a  promise  of  secrecy,  and 
went  to  her  own  room. 


128     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

"  Be  ignorance  thy  choice,  where  knowledge  leads  to  woe." 

BKATTIK. 

"  The  mind  is  its  own  place,  and  in  itself 
Can  make  a  heaven  of  hell,  a  hell  of  heaven." 

Mi  i. TON. 

QEPTEMBER  WAS  half  gone,  with  its  golden  days 
k3  of  plenty,  before  Mrs.  Watkins  began  to  look  back 
to  her  life  among  silks  and  laces.  When  she  heard  from 
Miss  Turner  that  the  appalling  cholera  had  abated,  she 
sent  word  to  the  Rectory  that  she  should  expect  Mary  to 
go  back  to  the  city  with  her  in  two  weeks.  Mary  felt 
a  bitter  pang  when  she  received  the  note  with  these 
instructions.  "  But,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  took  her 
way  to  the  study,  "  it  is  best ;  I  feel  I  am  loving  this  life 
of  idleness  too  well."  She  gave  her  father  the  note,  and 
sat  down  by  his  side  waiting  his  reply.  It  came  with  a 
deep  sigh. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  129 

"  It  seems  too  soon  to  lose  you,  Mary,"  he  said,  affec- 
tionately ;  "  I  am  sorry  to  part  from  you  again,  even  for 
a  little  while  ;  but  I  am  happy  to  tell  you  I  have  the 
means  to  limit  your  stay  to  three  months." 

"  No,  my  dear  father,"  she  said,  "  I  cannot  he  willing 
that  you  should  deprive  yourself  of  your  comforts  for  my 
sake.  I  have  no  doubt  the  discipline  will  be  good  for 
me,  after  this  life  of  idleness." 

"  Idleness  !  Mary,"  said  he,  with  surprise  ;  "  not  surely 
since  Mr.  Maurice  was  hurt !  I  have  felt  that  it  was 
hardly  right  that  so  much  of  your  vacation  should  be 
spent  in  the  confinement  of  a  sick-room.  Mr.  Maurice 
is  whimsical,  as  people  that  have  nothing  to  do  are  apt 
to  be,  and  prefers  your  society  mid  Josephine's  ;  but  I 
think  you -have  been  called  upon  too  much." 

A  blush  kindled  Mary's  cheek  and  neck,  but  she  did 
not  reply.  She  longed  to  tell  her  father  some  of  the 
conversations  she  had  had  with  Mr.  Maurice,  but  they 
seemed  so  foolish  to  repeat,  that  she  refrained.  Mr. 
Mul-shall  spoke  of  his  wife's  brother  as  a  man  of  bright 
genius,  but  wholly  governed  by  impulse,  without  any 
guide  but  his  own  wishes ;  he  had  been  so  long  de- 
barred female}  society,  many  things  must  be  overlooked 


130  THE    RECTORY    OF    MOREL.AND: 

in  him  that  would  be  censured  in  one  accustomed  to 
home  comforts.  Mary  rested  her  head  upon  the  arm 
of  the  large  study-chair  for  a  long  time  in  silence  ;  at 
length  she  said,  with  a  desperate  effort,  "  Father,  I  have 
wished  to  speak  to  you  for  some  time.  I  am  not  where 
I  ought  to  be.  There  is  a  restlessness,  an  unrest  in  my 
soul,  that  I  cannot  explain  to  myself ;  but  it  unfits  me  for 
devotion,  and  renders  my  prayers  a  mere  form."  The 
tears  came,  and  she  could  go  no  further. 

"  My  daughter,"  said  her  father,  laying  his  hand  gently 
on  her  head,  "  my  Mary,  restless  !  uneasy  !  Have  you 
examined  your  own  heart  for  the  cause  ? 

'  Whatever  passes  as  a  cloud  between 
The  mental  eye  of  faith  and  things  unseen, 
Causing  that  bright  world  to  disappear 
Or  seem  less  lovely,  and  its  hope  less  dear, 
This  is  our  world,  our  idol,  though  it  bear 
Affection's  impress,  of  devotion's  air.' " 

Mary  raised  her  head  to  speak,  when  the  silvery  voice 
of  little  Grace  was  heard  at  the  door,  as  she  said.  "  Sister 
Mary,  Uncle  Anthony  wants  you  to  come  and  finish  the 
book  you  were  reading  to  him  yesterday." 

"  Grace,  my  child,"  said  Mr.  Marshall,  "  go  and  ask 
your  Aunt  Josephine  to  read  to  your  uncle." 


OR    MY    DUTY.  131 

•l  lie  says,  father,  he  will  have  no  one  but  Mary  to 
read  that  book  to  him." 

A  frown  passed  over  the  face  of  the  Eector.  "  Sit 
here,  Mary,"  he  said,  "  till  I  return." 

Taking  his  darling  Grace  in  his  arms,  he  went  to  the 
nursery.  Mrs.  Marshall  was  engaged  in  embroidering  a 
frock  for  her  youngest  child.  "  Mrs.  Marshall,"  he  said 
very  gravely,  "  I  wish  you  to  go  and  provide  for  your 
brother's  wants :  Mary  will  not  be  at  leisure  this  morn- 
ing." 

When  he  returned  to  the  study,  he  found  Mary  sitting 
where  he  had  left  her.  Her  curls  hid  her  face,  but  he 
saw  she  was  weeping.  He  did  not  speak  to  her  at  once, 
but  went  to  the  study  window  that  looked  out  into  the 
churchyard.  This  window  was  in  a  recess,  screened 
from  the  room  by  a  heavy  crimson  curtain.  This  was  a 
favorite  seat  with  Mr.  Marshall  when  he  was  in  perplex- 
ity or  sorrow.  The  sight  of  the  churchyard,  with  its 
daily  increasing  mounds,  brought  quietness  sometimes  to 
his  soul,  for  he  remembered,  "  This  also  must  pass  away." 
But  now  he  rested  his  head  against  the  window,  and  the 
expression  of  his  countenance  was  a  mingling  of  indigna- 
tion, remorse,  solicitude,  and  pity.  His  face  was  pale, 


132     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

and  his  hands  were  clasped.  After  'the  first  emotion,  he 
turned,  and  said  in  a  low  tone,  "  Mary,  rny  daughter,  I 
feel  that  I  have  been  very  reprehensible  in  this  matter. 
I  wonder  at  myself,  that  I  should  have  left  you  to  read 
whatever  sueh  a  mind  as  Mr.  Maurice's  might  suggest.  I 
cannot  forgive  myself  that  I  should  have  allowed  it ;  his 
society,  too,  I  fear,  has  not  exerted  a  favorable  influence 
over  you."  Mr.  Marshall  could  not  see  Mary's  face,  or 
he  would  have  observed  the  same  conscious  blu.sh  that 
had  before  startled  him.  "  Come  and  sit  by  me,"  he 
said,  seating  himself  on  the  couch  in  the  recess.  Mary 
came  at  his  bidding ;  he  drew  her  towards  him  and  laid 
her  head  on  his  arm.  "  My  poor  lamb,"  he  said  tenderly, 
"I,  who  should  have  been  a  watchful  shepherd,  have 
suffered  harm  to  come  very  near  to  you ;  no  doubt,  (lie 
course  of  reading  for  these  few  weeks  is  the  cause  of  your 
restless  state  of  feeling.  What  books  have  you  read  to 
Mr.  Maurice,  Mary  ?  I  know  something  of  his  tastes ; 
but  hope  he  would  not  give  you  such  garbage  as  he 
feeds  upon  himself." 

Mary  recapitulated  the  works  she  had  read  to  Mr. 
Maurice,  and  some  that  she  had  commenced,  but  would 
not  finish,  when  she  found  their  character. 


OK    MY    DUTY.  133 

The  look  of  sorrow  and  remorse  deepened  on  her  fa- 
ther's brow,  as  Mary  recalled  one  by  one  the  titles  of  the 
volumes.  All  of  them  were  works  which  Mr.  Marshall 
would  have  carefully  withheld  from  his  child.  Mary 
longed  to  tell  her  father  that  it  AVUS  not  so  much  the 
reading  as  the  conversations  with  the  young  man  that 
had  given  her  this  troubled  feeling  ;  but  he  was  Mrs. 
Marshall's  brother,  and  she  refrained.  "  I  do  not  think," 
said  Mr.  Marshall,  "  that  intimate  association  with  a  mind 
like  Mr.  Maurice's  would  be  desirable  for  any  young 
girl,  and  I  ought  to  have  said  so  to  you  and  Josephine 
before ;  but  you  were  so  young,  and  I  thought  he  Avould 
hardly  notice  you :  and  Josephine  never  relishes  sugges- 
tions from  me  respecting  her  friendships.  I  will  endeav- 
or to  employ  your  time  myself  while  you  remain,  and 
promise  me,  Mary,  you  will  read  nothing  without  my 
approval." 

She  looked  up  into  his  face  with  that  clear,  confiding 
look  which  never  failed  to  please.  "  I  am  so  glad,"  she 
said,  "we  have  had  this  little  talk ;  I  shall  be  better  for 
it.  But,  father,  I  cannot  bear  you  should  take  fi-om  your 
means  to  release  me  from  Mrs.  Watkins." 

"  It  is  not  from  my  means,"  he  replied ;  "  a  friend  has 
12 


134    THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND : 

provided  it."  He  blamed  himself  for  saying  friend,  for 
it  was  Anthony  Maurice  who  had  provided  the  where- 
withal to  release  Mary  from  four  months  of  toil  under 
Mrs.  Watkins, 

Mr.  Marshall  blamed  himself,  too,  that  he  did  not  feel 
more  concern  about  Josephine's  mind  being  poisoned  by 
this  trash,  and  he  resolved  to  look  further  into  the  matter. 
At  dinner  that  day  a  cloud  seemed  to  hang  over  the 
family,  with  the  exception  of  Mary,  who  looked  more 
like  herself  than  she  had  done  for  many  days.  Jose- 
phine's eyes  were  red  with  weeping,  and  Mrs.  Marshall's 
face  was  the  picture  of  trouble  personified* 

"  How  is  Anthony  to-day  ?  "  said  Mr.  Marshall,  grow- 
ing weary  of  the  silence. 

"He  has  hurt  himself  trying  to  rise,"  said  Mrs.  Mar- 
shall, "and  is  nervous  and  irritable,  and  says,  if  he  is  ever 
able,  he  will  get  away  where  he  can  do  as  he  chooses." 

This  was  said  with  a  glance  at  Mary  which  seemed  lo 
say,  "  It  is  your  fault  that  he  cannot  do  so  here." 

The  silence  grew  more  ominous  than  before,  and  Mr. 
Marshall's  face  assumed  a  graver  cast.  As  soon  as  the 
meal  was  finished,  he  went  to  the  sick-room.  He  found 
the  poor  lame  sufferer  storming  at  his  attendant  in  the  most 


OE    MY    DUTY.  135 

violent  manner.  Mr.  Marshall  had  never  before  heai'd 
him  profane,  and  his  oaths  shocked  him  more  than  his 
passion.  However,  the  storm  subsided,  or  rather  changed 
into  dogged  sullenness,  at  the  appearance  of  his  visitor. 
Mr.  Marshall  took  his  seat  by  the  bedside,  and  instinc- 
tively took  up  the  book  that  lay  nearest  to  him.  It  was 
Byron's  "  Cain." 

"Anthony,"  said  he,  in  as  kind  a  tone  as  he  could 
assume,  "it  was  my  commands  that  prevented  Mary's 
attendance  here  this  morning.  I  am  not  willing  that  her 
pure  mind  should  be  made  familiar  with  such  works  as 
this,"  and  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  volume  before  him. 

Mr.  Maurice  looked  sullen. 

Mr.  Marshall  proceeded.  "Indeed,  I  think  this  can- 
not fail  to  be  poison  to  any  mind." 

"  You  have  read  it,  then  ?  "  said  Anthony  with  a  slight 
chuckling  sneer. 

"  Yes,  Anthony,  and  no  penance  would  be  severe  that 
could  efface  fronv  my  mind  the  remembrance  and  the 
effect  of  such  writings ;  volumes  of  which  I  must,  not 
only  as  a  Christian,  but  as  a  father,  forbid  the  reading 
under  my  roof.  Do  not  think  me  harsh  or  unkind,  my 
brother ;  you  have  done  much  for  me  and  mine^  but  all 
you  could  possibly  do  would  not  compensate  in  the  least 


loO     THE  EECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

for  unsettling  the  faith,  or  sullying  the  virtue,  of  one  of 
my  children;  and  the  promises  that  bind  me  to  Mary 
and  Grace  are  sacred,  next  to  my  vows  as  a  husband 
and  a  father." 

Anthony  Maurice  was  a  man  of  the  world,  and,  as 
such,  a  student  of  character  :  he  read  Mr.  Marshall 
aright,  and  only  wondered  in  his  own  mind  how  he  could 
have  made  the  one  mistake  in  marrying  his  sister.  It 
was  either  from  having  read  the  purpose  of  his  brother, 
or  from  real  feeling,  that  he  said,  as  he  turned  towards 
Mr.  Marshall,  —  the  whole  expression  of  his  countenance 
changed,  his  fine  eyes  moistened,  and  his  hand  extended 
to  him,  — "  Brother,  I  have  done  wrong ;  it  was  not 
design,  but  thoughtlessness,  perhaps  selfishness,  in  me. 
Had  our  mother  lived,  Ellen  and  I  might  both  have 
been  worthier  of  our  friends." 

He  looked  into  Mr.  Marshall's  face,  as  if  he  would 
read  the  very  secrets  of  his  soul ;  but  our  Rector  was  im- 
penetrable. 

The  subject  was  changed.  Mr.  Marshall  spoke  of  his 
brother's  broken  limb,  of  his  sufferings,  and 'at  length 
said,  "Mary  leaves  us  again  in  about  two  week>." 

u  So  soon  ! "  said  Maurice  with  a  sigh.  "  She  is  a  good 
little  thing,  and  so  fresh  and  free  from  worldliness,  it  is 


OB    MY    DUTY.  137 

really  delightful  to  see  her  moving  about,  not  thinking  of 
herself.  But  why  does  she  go  back  ?  Can't  we  buy  her 
off?  She  is  too  high-souled  for  this  employment." 

"  No  employment  would  degrade  her,  but  she  would 
elevate  any  occupation,"  said  Mr.  Marshall  gravely. 
"  She  is  resolutely  determined  to  support  herself,  and  this 
seems  to  be  the  only  opening." 

"  How  I  wish  this  leg  of  mine  was  what  it  should  be ! " 
said  Mr.  Maurice  impatiently.  "  I  would  go  immediately 
to  Professor  Henshaw,  the  great  teacher  of  music,  who  is 
spreading  his  scholars  all  over  the  country.  He  would 
be  delighted  with  Mary's  voice,  and  I  know  we  could 
make  arrangements  to  have  her  taught,  so  that  she  might 
eventually  instruct  others.  But  it  is  of  no  use,"  he  said, 
sinking  back ;  "  I  am  a  poor,  miserable  drone,  and  can't 
even  behave  as  I  ought." 

Mr.  Marshall  rose  to  go  soon  after.  Maurice  begged 
that  Mary  might  be  allowed  to  read  to  him  occasionally, 
declaring  that  he  could  understand  her  better  than  Jose- 
phine or  "  Sister  EUen "  ;  but  Mr.  Marshall  excused 
Mary,  saying  that  her  time  would  be  fully  occupied  in 
her  preparations  for  her  departure,  and  left  Maurice  to 
chew  the  cud  of  his  displeasure  at  his  leisure. 
12* 


138    THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELANIK 


CHAPTER    XX. 

"  Dreams  divide  our  being;  they  become 
A  portion  of  ourselves,  as  of  onr  time, 
And  look  like  heralds  of  eternity. 
They  pass  like  spirits  of  the  past,  they  siwuk 
Like  sibyls  of  the  future." 

MARY  "WAS  very  happy  during  the  two  remaining 
weeks  of  her  vacation.  Restored  to  her  usual  S«-K  n- 
ity  by  the  careful  guidance  of  her  faithful  pastor,  and  her 
own  earnest  efforts  to  do  right,  and  aided,  more  than  all, 
by  the  Divine  assistance  promised  to  those  who  "call  for  it 
by  diligent  prayer,"  she  went  about  singing  like  a  lark, 
and  making  others  happy,  because  she  wras  peaceful  her- 
self. Jeanette  had  returned  from  her  visit  to  Canada,  and 
Mary  spent  many  happy  hours  in  her  society.  For  the 
last  week,  they  had  gone  out  together,  every  day,  into 
some  of  the  beautiful  dingles  and  dells  with  which  More- 
land  abounded,  sometimes  with  Grace  and  Alice  for  com- 
pany. There  was  one  spot  which  they  frequented,  which 


OR    MY    DUTY.  139 

they  called  Peace  Dale,  —  a  secluded  valley  not  far  from 
Squire  Lee's  beautiful  grounds,  and  the  source  of  the 
brook  that  watered  them.  The  living  spring  here  burst 
forth  from  a  cleft  of  moss-grown  rocks,  and  all  along 
through  the  valley  the  windings  of  the  stream  were 
shown  by  a  deeper  green,  and  the  osier-willows  that 
sprung  up  in  its  course.  One  large  weeping-willow 
dipped  its  taper  fingers  into  the  water,  where  the  stream 
was  widened  and  deepened  by  a  branch  coming  from 
the  hills  above.  Over  the  point  where  the  streams  met, 
a  huge  rock  had  been  parted  by  a  convulsion  of  nature, 
and  in  its  fissure  was  a  mossy  nook,  shaded  by  the  wil- 
low, where  Jeanette  and  Mary  loved  to  linger.  They 
had  gone  there  the  last  day  of  Mary's  stay  in  Moreland. 
Jeanette  had  read  to  Mary  a  part  of  Arthur's  latest 
letter.  Her  golden  locks  were  bathed  in  the  sunlight 
that  streamed  through  the  overshadowing  branches,  and 
in  her  pure  blue  eyes  were  mirrored  each  passing 
thought,  as  plainly  as  the  stars  are  mirrored  in  the  sil- 
ver lake.  Alice  and  Grace  were  making  baskets  of 
burdock,  and  sailing  them  down  the  stream,  their  joy- 
ous shouts  and  laughter  ringing  through  the  valley. 
The  two  older  girls  watched  them  for  some  time  in 
silence. 


140     THE  RECTORY  OP  MORELAND: 

u  Jeanette,"  said  Mary  at  length,  "  I  am  glad  the 
course  of  your  true  love  runs  so  smooth.  It  does  not 
seem  to  me  you  could  bear  much  opposition,  or  trouble 
of  any  kind."  Saying  this,  she  put  her  arm  about 
Jeanette's  waist,  and  tenderly  kissed  her  brow. 

u  I  feel  sometimes,"  said  Jeanette,  as  her  head  rested 
against  Mary's  breast,  "  as  if  I  could  not  bear  so  much 
happiness.  The  very  greatness  of  my  joy  brings  a  pain 
through  here,"  and  she  placed  Mary's  hand  on  her  heart. 
"  I  have  thought,  dear  Mary,  that  this  deep,  all-absorbing 
emotion  was  growing  into  idolatry,  Arthur  is  so  always 
present  with  me,  everywhere,  in  all  my  thoughts,  at  all 
times ;  even  in  church,  I  think  he  is  kneeling  by  me. 
O  Mary,  I  fear  it  is  already  idolatry." 

"  O  no  !  "  said  Mary  fearfully,  "  not  idolatry  !  I  hope 
not  even  that  '  inordinate  and  sinful  affection'  against 
which  we  so  earnestly  pray.  It  is  natural  that  Arthur 
should  be  near  to  you  ;  but  would  n't  it  be  better  if  your 
life  were  a  little  less  dreamy,  and  a  little  more  active  ?  " 

"Perhaps  so,"  mused  Jeanette,  playing  with  Mary's 
dark  curls,  that  mingled  with  her  golden  locks,  ".but  my 
dreams  are  very  sweet.  I  had  one — it  was  a  real  dream, 
not  a  day-dream  —  that  I  wish  to  tell  you.  It  came  one 


OR    MY    DUTY.  141 

night  after  I  had  written  a  long  letter  to  Arthur,  and  it 
seemed  so  like  truth!  I  thought  Arthur  and  I  were 
alone  in  the  library  at  home.  The  bay-window  to  the 
west  was  thrown  wide  open,  and  the  curtains  put  back, 
to  admit  the  last  rays  of  a  glorious  sunset,  —  one  of  our 
Moreland  sunsets,  Mary.  My  head  rested  on  Arthur's 
breast,  and  his  arm  was  around  me ;  we  were  talking  of 
the  future,  and  our  bright  Southern  home.  Arthur  had 
been  telling  me  of  his  mother,  and  I  had  begun  to  love 
her,  and  to  feel  that  she  was  my  mother.  Suddenly  we 
looked  out  upon  the  lawn,  and  saw  floating  in  the  air 
what  looked  like  a  balloon,  made  of  the  most  delicate 
material,  —  a  sort  of  silver  tissue.  It  glistened  in  the 
dying  sunlight,  and  floated  slowly  toward  the  window 
where  we  were  sitting.  It  came  nearer  and  nearer,  till 
it  rested  on  the  green  bank  before  us.  We  now  saw 
within  it  a  bird  of  most  brilliant  blue  and  gold  plumage. 
I  was  startled  at  first,  and  felt  a  cold  shudder  creep  over 
me,  and  clung  closer  to  Arthur,  who  seemed  surprised, 
but  not  frightened,  as  I  was.  At  length  the  bird  began 
to  warble,  and  her  song  —  O  Mary,  if  you  could  have 
heard  it !  my  soul  is  filled  even  now  with  the  delicious 
melody.  As  we  looked  and  wondered,  the  form  of  the 


142  THE    RECTORY    OP    MORELAND! 

41 

bird  changed  into  that  of  a  perfect  little  cherub  baby, 
with  silver  wings  and  a  face  so  like  my  darling  brother 
Frank,  —  who  died  before  you  came  to  Moreland,  —  so 
like  him,  that  I  clapped  my  hands,  and  shouted,  '  Dear 
Frank ! '  I  felt  Arthur's  frame  tremble,  and  when  I 
looked  at  him  he  was  deadly  pale,  and  a  cold,  clammy 
dew  stood  upon  his  forehead  and  hair.  '  Don't  go,  don't 
go!'  he  said  to  me,  as  I  kissed  his  pale  lips.  The  cherub 
was  calling  me  continually,  '  Sister,  come  !  sister,  come  ! ' 
and  putting  out  his  little  arms  to  meet  me.  I  felt  Ar- 
thur's arm  tighten  round  my  waist,  and  when  I  tried  to 
free  myself  from  his  clasp,  the  tears  came  dropping  on 
my  neck  from  his  sorrowful  eyes,  and  he  only  said,  'I 
cannot,  I  cannot.'  I  sprang  lightly  from  him,  saying,  as 
I  looked  back,  '  Only  for  a  little,  dearest.'  I  went  toward 
the  cherub,  and  seemed  to  feel  the  light  gossamer  cover- 
ing overshadow  me.  I  looked  back  to  Arthur,  and 
smiled;  in  a  moment  I  was  sailing  with  my  little  com- 
panion far  up — up — up.  The  sense  of  rising  wakened 
me,  and  I  found  I  had  forgotten  to  close  the  blind  to  my 
east  window,  and  the  moonlight  was  streaming  directly 
on  my  bed.  Was  n't  it  a  singularly  life-like  dream, 
Mary?" 


OR    MY    DUTY.  143 

Mary  could  not  answer ;  the  tears  blinded  her  as  she 
pressed  Jeanette  closer  to  her  heart,  and  for  days  she 
tried  in  vain  to  throw  off  a  sad,  dreary  feeling,  left 
upon  her  mind  by  this  night  vision. 

The  voices  of  the  children  reminded  the  girls  that  it 
Avas  time  to  be  looking  homeward.  Grace  and  Alice 
came  bounding  along.  The  dark  locks  of  Grace  were 
wreathed  with  laurel  leaves  mingled  with  the  brilliant 
crimson  of  the  cardinal-flower,  with  here  and  there  the 
delicate  fringe  of  the  blue  gentian. 

"  0,  see  what  I  have  for  papa ! "  said  Grace,  as  she 
opened  her  apron  and  displayed  a  lap  full  of  cardinals 
and  gentians ;  "  see,  Sister  Mar}',  his  favorites  for  au- 
tumn ;  they  grow  all  along  up  the  brook,  beyond  the 
willows,  and  Alice  has  some  moss,  O,  so  pretty !  for 
Uncle  Anthony  to  put  with  those  beautiful  shells.  He 
says  he  brought  them  from  the  far-off  sea  on  purpose  for 
you."  She  looked  up  innocently  into  Mary's  face. 

"  I  think  that  is  a  mistake  of  his,"  said  Mary  laughing, 
"  as  I  had  not  the  pleasure  of  his  acquaintance  for  some 
time  after  he  came  home." 

"  Well,  he  says,  Sister  Mary,"  replied  Grace  eagerly, 
"you  shall  not  stay  at  Mrs.  Watkins's  any  longer  than 


144  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 

he  is  able  to  be  about.  He  told  me  so  this  morning ; 
and  then  lie  took  me  in  his  arms,  and  said  he  would  be 
a  brother  to  me." 

The  unsuspicious  Jeanette  looked  inquiringly  into 
Mary's  face,  but  she  changed  the  subject,  by  showing 
Grace  the  flowers  dropping  from  her  apron  as  she 
skipped  along. 

Sunny  days  were  those  for  darling  little  Grace;,  while 
she  had  Mary  by  her  side,  and  could  pour  into  her  ear 
the  tale  of  her  childhood's  joys  and  sorrows. 


OK    MY    DUTY.  145 


CHAP  TEE    XXI. 

"  He  seemed 
For  dignity  composed,  and  high  exploit, 

But  all  was  false  and  hollow 

His  thoughts  were  low, 

To  vice  industrious 

Yet  he  pleased  the  ear." 

MILTON. 

"  Heart  too  capable 

Of  every  line  and  trick  of  his  sweet  favor ; 
But  now  he  's  gone,  and  my  idolatrous  fancy 
Must  sanctify  his  relics." 

THE  BRIGHT  September  days  were  gone,  and 
Mary  was  again  an  inmate  of  Mrs.  "Watkins's  shop, 
more  agreeably  situated  than  before,  for  now  she  was  in 
the  fitting-room  and  shop  most  of  the  time,  —  the  new- 
comers occupying  her  previous  uncomfortable  position 
in  the  work-room. 

Anthony    Maurice    had    arrived    at    the    dignity    of 
crutches.      He  was  cross  and  surly  the  greater  part  of 
the  time,  although  to  Josephine  he  would  occasionally 
13      ' 


146     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND : 

vouchsafe  a  tender  word,  or  a  smile,  on  which  she  would 
live  for  days.  His  books  afforded  him  no  pleasure ;  his 
time  was  spent  in  longings  to  get  away.  He  cheered  up 
somewhat  after  receiving  a  letter  from  Frank  Brayton, 
his  chief  friend,  informing  him  of  his  matrimonial  en- 
gagement with  a  mutual  friend,  Miss  Isabella  Fitz- 
Gerald ;  and  when  he  had  answered  the  letter,  time 
passed  less  wearily. 

Mr.  Marshall  had  spoken  to  Josephine  several  times, 
while  Mr.  Maurice  remained  at  the  Rectory,  about  her 
reading,  and  advised  her  to  be  cautious  in  her  intercourse 
with  him ;  but  she,  self-willed  and  determined,  chose 
rather  to  please  Anthony  than  to  take  heed  to  the  wise 
counsels  of  her  brother. 

Finding  that  she  was  wholly  governed  by  feeling,  and 
had  no  fixed  principles,  Mr.  Maurice  gradually,  by  con- 
versation and  the  authors  he  selected  for  her  perusal, 
undermined  her  faith,  and  left  her  as  lonely  and  desolate 
as  a  woman  could  be.  Mrs.  Marshall's  brother  left  More- 
land  very  suddenly,  without  any  warning  to  the  family, 
and  without  asking  for  any  further  intercourse  eren  with 
his  sister.  When  Josephine  became  conscious  tliat  he 
had  really  gone  out  of  town,  and  that  without  one  word 


OR    MY    DUTY.  147 

of  promise  to  her,  to  whom  he  had  made  so  many  pro- 
fessions of  love,  her  almost  bursting  heart  found  a  slight 
relief  in  a  letter  to  Mary. 

MARY,  my  dear,  my  only  friend,  I  am  so  desolate, 
I  would  willingly  lie  down  and  die.  Anthony  has 
gone,  and  that  without  one  word  of  promise  for  the  fu- 
ture, not  one  word  to  one  to  whom  he  has  made  so  many 
vows  !  I  remember  you  told  me  you  could  not  trust  him. 
How  cold  and  heartless  I  thought  you !  but  now,  O  what 
would  I  not  part  with  to  be  as  free  as  you !  I  am  making 
deep  confessions  to  you,  Mary,  but  I  feel  that  they  are 
sacred.  You  may  see  Anthony  ;  he  goes  to  New  York 
on  his  way  South.  One  word  from  him  would  be  so 
precious!  Brother  and  sister  know  nothing  of  what  I 
have  written  you ;  I  do  not  think  they  suspect  it :  you 
will  not  betray  me.  There  is  something  mysterious  in 
his  influence  over  me.  I  cannot  understand  it.  When 
he  was  away,  I  felt  as  if  I  might  and  would  be  more 
womanly,  and  not  betray  myself  as  I  have  in  a  thousand 
ways ;  but  when  he  was  by  my  side,  all  was  forgotten. 

"  I  have  made  his  eye 
The  lonely  star  of  my  idolatry." 


148     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

I  sit  by  your  window  and  listen  to  the  sighing  of  the 
wind  through  the  churchyard  pines,  and  I  long  to  lay  my 
head  beneath  their  sheltering  branches ;  and  then  come 
rushing  into  my  soul  the  doubts  he  planted  there  of  the 
future. 

How  I  envy  Jeanette,  with  her  calm,  placid  smile  ! 
She  cannot  love  as  I  love ;  I  know  it  is  not  in  her  na- 
ture. She  loves  Arthur  because  he  loves  her;  but  I 
love,  because  I  cannot  help  it. 

I  must  not  write  more.  I  have  already  written  more 
than  is  for  your  good  or  my  own.  I  hope  you  may  sec 
Anthony.  If  you  should,  can  you  not  persuade  him  to 
write  me  just  one  line,  —  at  least  to  let  me  know  that  he 
does  not  despise 

JOSEPIIIXK. 

When  Mary  read  the  letter  of  the  suffering  Josepliine, 
she  grieved  for  her,  but  what  could  she  do  ?  What  did 
Josephine  wish  her  to  do  ?  She  had  not  seen  Mr.  Mau- 
rice, neither  did  she  hope  or  expect  that  he  would  call 
upon  her  there.  She  wished  she  could  in  honor  send  the 
letter  to  Mr.  Marshall,  but  that  of  course  she  could  not 
do.  She  was  angry  that  Josephine  should  say  Jeanette's 


OR    MY    DUTY.  149 

love  for  Arthur  was  not  as  deep  and  true  as  hers  for 
Anthony  Maurice.  Why  should  she  choose  her  for  a 
confidant,  younger  than  herself,  and  untutored  in  such 
matters  ?  She  was  so  abstracted  turning  these  varied 
thoughts  in  her  own  mind,  that  a  lady  customer  inquired 
the  price  of  an  article  three  times  before  she  replied. 
Mrs.  Watkins  pushed  her  aside,  called  her  a  "stupid 
hussy,"  and  waited  on  the  lady  herself.  Soon  after,  Mary 
was  called  into  the  fitting-room,  and  was  appointed  to  cut 
a  di-ess  for  the  same  person.  The  lady  was  a  happy, 
laughing  creature.  She  regarded  Mary  with  much  in- 
terest. 

"  I  do  believe  I  have  guessed  right,"  she  said ;  "  is  n't 
your  name  Miss  Evans,  —  Mary  Evans  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mary  modestly,  "  that  is  my  name." 

"  I  told  Mr.  Maurice  I  could  guess,  he  is  so  good  at 
description.  He  said  you  were  a  protegee  of  his,  you 
sung  beautifully,  and  were  so  good.  Ah !  I  shall  not  tell 
you  all  he  said.  But  you  must  look  out  for  Mr.  Maurice. 
He  is  a  saucy  fellow ;  —  very  kind-hearted  and  generous 
though,  full  of  noble  impulses." 

Mary  blushed  to  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  but  she  forced 
herself  to  say,  "  I  met  Mr.  Maurice  at  my  father's ;  he 
is  a  connection  of  his." 
13* 


150    THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

- 

"  Your  father's  ?  Why  he  told  me  you  were  an  or- 
phan ! " 

Mary  felt  a  little  bit  of  wounded  pride  at  being  thus 
questioned,  but  she  replied  mildly,  "  I  am  the  adopted 
daughter  of  one  of  the  best  of  fathers." 

"  0  yes !  I  do  remember  Mr.  Maurice  told  me  some- 
thing of  it." 

They  were  interrupted  by  Mrs.  Watkins,  who  sharply 
reproved  Mary  for  being  so  long  doing  nothing,  threaten- 
ing to  send  her  back  to  the  work-room. 

Mary  did  not  venture  to  ask  the  young  lady's  name, 
but  on  returning  to  the  shop  she  learned  it  was  Miss 
Isabella  Fitz-Gerald.  She  was  elegantly  dressed,  and 
her  carriage  was  in  waiting. 

Two  young  gentlemen  came  to  her  assistance  as  she 
stepped  into  the  vehicle.  Mary  did  not  see  them,  but 
she  heard  the  voice  of  one  of  them,  and  her  first  thought 
was  to  get  out  of  sight  as  quickly  as  possible.  She  had 
hardly  closed  the  door  of  the  fitting-room  when  it  was 
again  opened,  and  she  met  the  gaze  of  Anthony  Maurice. 
He  came  forward  with  the  easy  nonchalance  of  a  man  of 
the  world,  and,  taking  her  hand,  would  have  given  her  a 
salute ;  but  Mary  drew  back  with  quiet  dignity,  and  ho 
contented  himself  with  kissing  her  hand. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  151 

"  Now,  Sister  Mary,"  said  he,  "  I  did  think,  after  so 
long  an  absence,  you  would  have  given  me  a  brother's 
privilege,  but  no  matter ;  I  am  mighty  glad  to  see  you 
looking  so  nice  and  fresh " ;  —  and  he  patted  her  rosy 
cheek. 

Mary  felt  an  undefined  fear,  and  she  drew  away  from 
him. 

"  Have  you  heard  from  home  of  late  ?  "  said  he,  care- 
lessly. 

The  blood  rushed  to  Mary's  face  as  she  thought  of 
Josephine's  letter,  and  then  came  the  perplexing  thought, 
"What  shall  I  do?" 

"  One  would  think  by  that  blush,  Mary,"  said  Maurice, 
taking  one  of  her  curls  and  twisting  it  about  his  finger, 
"  that  you  had  received  at  least  one  fore-letter." 

Mary  felt  annoyed,  but  woman's  ready  wit  came  to 
her  help,  and  she  said,  playfully,  "All  my  letters  from 
home  are  love-letters.  I  have  had  two  from  father, 
one  from  Jeanette,  and  one  from  Josephine." 

"  Josephine  ?     Ah  !  what  does  my  little  Josey  say  ?  " 

"  She  said,"  replied  Mary,  meeting  his  full  glance 
upon  her  truthful  face,  "  she  wished  to  hear  from 
Mr.  Maurice." 


152     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

Mr.  Maurice  saw  at  once  that  Mary  knew  all,  and  he 
quailed  for  an  instant  under  the  light  of  those  young  eyes, 
that  had  never  cast  a  false  shadow. 

"  Well,  Mary,  I  will  write  to  her,"  he  said,  and  a  sad, 
pitiful  look  came  over  his  features.  "  Poor  girl !  I  did 
not  dream  that  I  was  to  make  her  so  miserable.  It  is 
my  fate,  —  I  never  look  upon  anything  but  to  bring  a 
blight  upon  it.  I  shall  never  be  anything  but  a  curse," 
he  added,  bitterly.  "I  swear  I  did  not  mean  to  win 
Josephine ;  it  was  only  foolish  nonsense  on  my  part,  to 
while  away  time.  What  can  I  do,  Mary  ?  " 

Mary  came  a  little  nearer,  and  laying  her  hand  on  his 
arm,  said  eagerly,  "  Why  will  you  not  tell  her  this  you 
have  told  me  ?  it  is  the  only  reparation  you  can  make." 

Mr.  Maurice  looked  at  her,  but  made  no  reply.  At 
length,  with  a  deep  sigh,  he  said,  "  Mary,  I  have  a  regard 
for  Josephine,  but  she  is  not  the  woman  I  could  take  to 
my  heart.  Her  affections  are  like  a  sheet  of  water  :  im- 
pressions are  not  lasting.  But  if  you  wish  me  to  tell  her 
that  I  am  sorry  for  my  folly  in  making  love  to  her,  I  will 
do  it,  although  it  will  cost  me  a  great  struggle.  She  has 
not  depth  to  satisfy  the  cravings  of  my  spirit.  Insensible 
as  you  deem  me,  there  are  moments  when  I  feel  the 


OK    MY    DUTY.  153 

movings  of  my  nobler  nature,  and  long  for  better  things 
than  I  have  yet  found  in  life;  but  I  have  no  one  to 
whom  I  can  speak  thus,  no  one  who  would  understand 
these  yearnings.  My  companions  are  all  light  and  friv- 
olous. I  go  and  come,  but  what  is  life  to  me  ?  Only  an 
empty  show. 

'  To  feel 

We  are  not  what  we  have  been,  and  to  deem 
We  are  not  what  we  should  be,  and  to  steel 

The  heart  against  itself. 

To  roam  along,  the  world's  tired  denizens, 

With  none  to  bless  us,  none  whom  we  can  bless.'  " 

Mr.  Maurice  could  not  have  chosen  a  better  way  than 
this  to  produce  in  Mary's  mind  a  desire  to  help  him. 
The  rich  musical  tones  of  his  voice,  and  the  pathos  with 
which  he  quoted  from  his  favorite  author,  touched  Mary's 
feelings.  She  had  an  orphan's  heart,  and  could  not  but 
sympathize  in  the  utter  desolation  he  seemed  to  feel. 
The  reader  must  excuse  her,  if  the  tears  were  on  her 
cheek,  and  a  feeling  of  nearness  to  Mr.  Maurice  that 
she  had  never  experienced  came  into  her  soul.  She 
knew  very  little  of  the  world  at  large,  still  less  of  the 
heart  of  a  man  of  the  world,  and  she  could  not  but 
hope  so  much  apparent  feeling  might  end  in  penitence. 
Neither  was  Mr.  Maurice  altogether  insincere.  Many 


154     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

hours  of  wretchedness  were  his  portion,  —  wretchedness 
that  the  good  and  the  pure  know  nothing  of ;  and  while 
he  told  Mary  of  his  longings  for  a  higher  and  holier  life, 
who  shall  blame  her  that  she  listened,  and  longed  to  reach 
forth  a  helping  hand  ? 

"  Mr.  Maurice,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  trembling  with 
emotion,  and  with  a  desire  to  say  something  that  might 
do  good,  "are  not  these  longings  of  which  you  speak 
suggestions  of  that  Spirit,  that  loving  Spirit,  who  strives 
with  the  children  of  men  ?  And  oh  !  if  you  would  listen 
to  that  voice,  it  would  help  you  far,  far  better  than  any 
earthly  friend.  But  if  you  need  counsel,  where  could 
you  find  on  earth  a  better  and  kinder  adviser  than  your 
dear,  good  brother,  Mr.  Marshall  ?  " 

Mr.  Maurice  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  Mary,  he  is  kind,  good,  all  that  you  say,  but  he 
would  not  understand  me,  even  as  well  as  you  do.  No- 
body can  help  me  but  you,  Mary,  and,"  he  said,  looking 
solemnly  into  Mary's  tearful  eyes,  "you  can.  May  I  go 
to  church  with  you  to-morrow  ?" 

Mary  hesitatingly  gave  her  consent,  upon  condition 
that  he  would  do  the  first  act  of  reparation  that  night, 
and  write  to  Josephine.  He  promised,  and  they  parted 
better  friends  than  before. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  155 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

"  Alas !  our  young  affections  run  to  waste, 
Or  water  but  the  desert." 

BYROX. 

"  He  could  only  speak 
In  undertone  compassionate  her  name. 
The  voice  of  pity  soothed  and  melted  her." 

SOUTHEY. 

EVEN  AFTER  Mary  left  Moreland,  Mr.  Mar- 
shall's heart  reproached  him  that  he  had  not  seen 
what  effect  association  with  Mr.  Maurice  might  have  upon 
a  young,  unsophisticated  girl.  Josephine  looked  pale  and 
thin,  and  had  lost  that  vivacity  which  was  her  great  charm 
in  society.  He  began  to  fear  that  this,  too,  might  have 
connection  with  Maurice.  Mr.  Marshall  was  not  ac- 
quainted with  the  depths  of  Anthony  Maurice's  depravity. 
He  only  knew  him  as  a  young  man  without  religious 
principle,  self-willed  and  passionate,  and  fond  of  vain  and 


156     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

frivolous  pursuits ;  further  than  this  he  had  no  knowl- 
edge of  him,  before  he  entered  the  family  at  the  Rectory. 
Mr.  Maurice  was  impulsive  and  generous,  and  Mr.  Mar- 
shall had  strong  hopes,  when  he  came  into  Moreland, 
that  he  would  leave  the  wild  and  wandering  life  he  had 
led,  and  become  at  least  an  estimable  citizen.  But  as  his 
acquaintance  with  him  increased,  his  hopes  grew  fainter ; 
for  although  he  was  always  respectful  and  gentlemanly 
in  Mr.  Marshall's  presence,  some  reports  of  his  conduct 
and  conversation  abroad  from  time  to  time  reached  his 
brother's  ear,  and  wakened  him  to  a  sense  of  something 
harmful;  right  glad  was  the  Rector  when  Dr.  Arnold 
pronounced  his  limb  in  a  condition  to  travel.  It  was  a 
relief  to  Mr.  Marshall  that  Maurice  was  so  ready  to 
go ;  for  he  was  his  wife's  brother,  and  he  could  not  for- 
bid him  his  house.  After  his  sudden  departure,  which 
has  been  already  mentioned,  Josephine  grew  daily  more 
and  more  taciturn  and  reserved ;  at  last  she  kept  her 
chamber,  and  came  into  the  family  only  at  prayers  and 
meals.  The  household  supposed  Mr.  Maurice  had  gone 
South,  as  he  proposed,  and  were  wondering  that  they 
received  no  intelligence  of  him,  although  he  only  said. 
"  May  be  so,"  when  his  sister  asked  him  to  write.  Two 


OR    MY    DUTY.  157 

or  three  weeks  had  gone  by  since  his  departure,  when 
Mr.  Marshall  came  hi  to  meet  the  assembled  family. 
His  countenance  bore  a  stern  look,  that  always  betokened 
some  deep  emotion  beneath.  Josephine  with  languid  air 
took  her  seat  at  the  table,  when  Mr.  Marshall  said  very 
gravely,  "  My  sister,  here  is  a  letter  for  you  from  New 
York."  Josephine  blushed  crimson,  for  she  thought  of 
her  letter  to  Mary,  and  supposed  this  to  be  the  answer. 
She  took  it  hastily  from  her  brother,  but  when  she 
glanced  at  the  superscription,  a  deadly  paleness  spread 
over  her  features,  and  she  could  scarcely  command  her- 
self sufficiently  to  ask  to  be  excused  from  her  untested 
repast. 

She  did  not  make  her  appearance  again  that  night. 
Next  morning,  she  replied  to  Grace,  who  came  to  her 
door  to  summon  her  to  breakfast,  that  she  would  be 
excused.  Mr.  Marshall  thought  of  going  to  her  room; 
but  when  he  remembered  Josephine's  unhappy  disposition 
to  brook  no  interference  in  her  affairs,  he  refrained. 
When  dinner-time  came,  and  she  still  refused  to  see  Mrs. 
Marshall,  her  brother  resolved  to  take  the  matter  into  his 
own  hands.  Going  to  her  room,  he  said  in  a  tone  of 
mingled  gentleness  and  firmness,  "Josephine,  I  wish  to 
14 


158     THE  KECTOEY  OF  MORELAND: 

» 

speak  with  you."  He  was  not  sure  but  she  would  refuse 
him  admittance  ;  but  he  heard  her  slow,  unsteady  step 
over  the  floor,  and  the  bolt  was  drawn.  He  was  wholly 
unprepared  to  see  his  sister  as  he  found  her.  Her  arms 
were  flung  across  the  table,  her  hair  hung  in  masses 
about  her  form,  while  her  head  rested  on  her  arms.  She 
was  dressed  in  a  loose  wrapper,  although  the  room  was 
cold,  and  her  feet  M'ere  bare.  Her  brother  stood  over 
her,  and  said  in  his  most  soothing  tones,  "  Josephine,  my 
dear  sister,  Avill  you  not  tell  me,  your  brother,  the  cause 
of  this  bitter  suffering  ?  " 

"  There  !  "  she  said,  as  she  stamped  her  naked  foot  on 
the  crushed  letter  of  Mr.  Maurice.  Her  face  was  like 
marble,  cold  and  rigid,  and  the  lines  of  grief  about  her 
mouth  were  deeply  marked.  Mr.  Marshall  lifted  the 
letter  from  the  floor,  and  was  about  to  read  it. 

"  No  !  no !  no ! ''  said  she,  snatching  the  letter  from 
him.  "  It  will  be  betraying  him,  and  I  asked  for  one 
line,  only  one  line." 

This  was  said  in  a  tone  of  bitter  sarcasm,  and  she  put 
the  letter  under  her  hand. 

"Josephine,"  said  Mr.  Marshall,  struggling  fearfully 
with  his  own  feelings,  "  if  you  have  been  wronged  or 


OK    MY    DUTY.  159 

injured,  where  can  you  find  a  more  ready  protector  than 
your  brother  ?  You  are  now  suffering ;  will  you  not 
come  to  your  brother's  heart  and  unbosom  your  grief? 
You  once  said  you  had  never  known  sorrow ;  I  told  you 
it  was  the  lot  of  all ;  but,  my  dearest  Josephine,  we  little 
thought  in  Avhat  form  it  would  come  to  you.  And  now 
will  you  not  let  me  be  truly  a  brother  to  you  ?  "  Saying 
this  he  drew  Josephine  to  his  amis,  kissed  her  pale  cheek, 
and  soothed  her  convulsed  sobbing,  as  if  she  had  been  a 
babe.  Weak  and  faint  from  exhaustion,  her  head  sunk 
on  his  breast,  and  she  laid  the  letter  in  his  hand. 

Mr.  Marshall's  face  was  even  paler  than  Josephine's 
while  he  read  the  letter,  and  for  the  first  time  a  by- 
stander might  have  traced  a  resemblance  between  them. 

"  Heartless  villain  ! "  said  Mr.  Marshall,  as  he  bit  his 
lips,  and  crushed  the  letter  beneath  his  foot. 

"  But  I  love  him,"  said  Josephine,  looking  wildly  up, — 
"  yes,  love  him,  better  than  anything  in  heaven  or  earth." 

Mr.  Marshall  felt  for  an  instant  a  shrinking  back  from 
one  who  could  give  utterance  to  such  a  thought ;  but  he 
remembered  her  suffering,  and  said,  in  his  kindest  tone, 
"  My  dear  sister,  listen  to  me.  I  have  done  wrong  in 
this  matter,  very  wrong.  I  have  suffered  the  wolf  to 


160     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

creep  into  my  fold.  He  would  have  deliled  the  pure 
mind  of  Mary,  and  has  taken  away  the  heart  of  my 
sister,  not  only  from  me,  but  from  her  God.  O  Jo- 
sephine!" he  added,  bowing  his  head  and  covering  his 
face  with  his  hands,  "  what  blindness  in  me,  what  want 
of  care  for  the  lambs  of  my  flock !  AY'ith  the  knowledge 
of  human  nature  God  has  given  me,  I  might  have  known 
the  consequences.  I  trusted  to  —  But  it  is  past, 

and  I  am  the  one  who  deserves  severest  censure."  His 
grief  was  intense ;  his  strong  frame  quivered. 

Josephine  had  never  seen  him  so  moved,  and  she  for- 
got for  a  moment  her  own  misery,  in  the  agony  of  suf- 
fering through  which* he  was  passing.  "Brother,  dear 
brother,  do  not  grieve  thus,"  she  said,  putting  her  arms 
about  his  neck.  "  You  are  in  no  wise  to  blame  for  my 
follies ;  why  should  you  be  ?  If  I  had,  as  I  ought, 
followed  your  counsel  and  advice,  I  should  not  be  where 
I  am." 

Mr.  Marshall  did  not  speak.  A  long  time  passed  be- 
fore that  noble  heart  arose  from  the  depth  of  remorse 
which  only  those  can  realize  who  have  felt  the  worth 
and  peril  of  a  human  soul  committed  to  their  care.  At 
length  he  said,  "  Josephine,  tell  me  where  you  are.  He 


OR    MY    DUTY.  161 

speaks  in  this  letter  of  'unsettling  your  faith.'  Can 
it  be  that  he  has  really  taught  you  his  infidel  doc- 
trines ?  " 

"  I  am  no  infidel,  brother,  O  no !  but  I  cannot  believe 
all  true  that  I  once  thought  certain.  How  gladly  would 
I  again  have  that  trust  in  an  overruling  Providence  I 
once  had ! " 

"  He  has  only  shaken  your  faith  then,  my  dearest  sis- 
ter; thank  God,  he  has  not  destroyed  it.  It  shall  be  one 
aim  of  my  life  to  restore  to  you  again  the  jewel  the  hand 
of  unbelief  would  have  taken  from  you,  and  to  bind  up 
your  wounded  affections.  Josephine,  there  has  been  dis- 
tance and  coldness  between  us ;  but  now  we  have  known 
the  sympathy  of  suffering,  let  us  be  truly  brother  and 
sister."  And  then  he  took  her  so  gently  along  to  the 
green  pastures  and  still  waters  of  his  own  bright  faith, 
and  discoursed  so  lovingly  of  the  tender  care  of  our  Good 
Shepherd,  that  Josephine's  sad  heart  revived.  From 
that  day  there  was  a  marked  change  in  both  the  Rector 
and  his  sister.  He  lost  that  cold  reserve  that  when 
wounded  caused'  him  to  withdraw  into  himself,  and  be- 
came more  genial  in  his  daily  walk.  To  Josephine  were 
appointed  many  hours  of  bitter  sorrow  for  the  ruthless 
14* 


162     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

waste  of  her  heart's  affections  ;  but  when  she  did  waken, 
(through  sad  struggles  with  self,)  from  her  dream  of  dis- 
appointed love,  she  found  herself  possessing  a  new  and 
nobler  nature. 


OB    MY    DUTY.  163 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

"  If  human  life  do  pass  away, 
Perishing  yet  more  swiftly  than  the  flower, 
Whose  frail  existence  is  but  for  a  day, 
What  space  hath  virgin's  beauty  to  disclose 
Her  sweets,  and  triumph  o'er  the  breathing  rose? 
Not  even  an  hour. 

.  Then  shall  love  teach  some  virtuous  youth, 
To  draw  out  of  the  object  of  his  eyes, 
The  whilst  on  Thee  they  gaze,  with  simple  truth, 
Hues  more  exalted,  a  refined  form, 
That  dreads  not  age,  nor  suffers  from  the  worm, 

And  never  dies." 

WORDSWORTH. 

IT  WAS  a  cold,  raw  November  day.  The  first  snow 
sprinklings  of  the  season  were  descending,  as  if  very 
reluctantly,  and  the  whole  atmosphere  was  pervaded  with 
that  stinging  chilliness  which  penetrates  through  all  cloth- 
ing and  makes  the  warmest  clad  shiver.  Josephine  sat 
at  the  study  window,  looking  out  toward  the  road.  Her 
face  was  pale  and  sad ;  she  had  evidently  been  convers-  , 
in"1  with  her  brother  on  some  serious  subject,  for  he 


164     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

^ 

looked  graver  than  usual.  Josephine,  although  her  face 
was  pressed  against  the  window-frame,  saw  nothing  with- 
out, till  she  was  startled  by  the  figure  of  Ralph,  running 
with  all  speed  toward  the  Rectory.  His  bright,  hand- 
some face  was  flushed,  and,  cold  as  was  the  weather, 
large  drops  of  sweat  stood  on  his  brow.  Josephine  had 
only  time  to  exclaim,  "  Why,  here  is  Ralph,  running  with 
all  his  might ! "  when  the  boy  burst  into  the  room,  and 
rushing  breathless  to  Mr.  Marshall,  said  eagerly,  "  Come, 
do  come  quick,  to  sister  Jeanette,  dear  Jeanette ! "  and 
the  child  burst  into  tears.  Mr.  Marshall  seized  his  hat 
and  cloak.  "  Let  me  go  too,  brother,"  said  Josephine, 
"  do  let  me  go,  if  anything  has  happened  to  Jeanette." 
He  made  no  objections,  and  they  all  hurried  along  to  the 
Mansion  House. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  Jeanette  ? "  said  Mr.  Mar- 
shall to  the  little  fellow,  who  clung  to  his  hand  as  they 
went  along. 

"  O,  she  is  sick,  so  sick,  I  fear  she  will  die,  and 
then  — "  The  child's  sobs  were  renewed. 

Dr.  Arnold's  chaise  was  waiting  at  the  entrance  when 
they  reached  the  end  of  the  avenue.  They  went  directly 
to  the  library,  but  it  was  some  minutes  before  any  one 


OR    MY    DUTY.  165 

appeared.  Steps  were  heard  on  the  stairs,  and  Dr.  Ar- 
nold entered,  accompanied  by  Dr.  Thurston,  a  young 
physician  who  had  lately  settled  in  Moreland.  Dr. 
Arnold  was  eagerly  questioned  by  Mr.  Marshall. 

"  Well,  sir  —  don't  know  —  don't  know  —  can't  say  — 
bad  case  —  bad  case  —  over-exertion  —  bad  case  —  rup- 
ture of  a  pectoral  bloodvessel  —  small  chance  for  life  — 
hangs  on  a  thread  —  must  be  kept  quiet  —  better  not  go 
to  her,  sir —  agitation,  sir,  bad,  bad." 

"  But,  Dr.  Arnold,"  said  the  other  physician  aside, 
"  will  it  not  cause  more  agitation  to  refuse  the  gentle- 
man ?  —  for  when  she  has  been  able  to  speak,  she  has 
called  for  her  pastor." 

Although  this  was  spoken  in  an  undertone,  it  reached 
Mr.  Marshall's  ear,  and  he  waited  for  no  further  conver- 
sation, but  left  the  room.  On  the  stairs  he  met  Squire 
Lee.  Hours  had  done  the  work  of  years  on  that  usually 
sunny  face ;  deep  lines  of  grief  were  there,  traces  of 
scalding  tears,  and  a  convulsed  sobbing,  which  was  almost 
heart-breaking.  Mr.  Marshall  pressed  his  hand,  but  they 
exchanged  not  a  word,  and  together  went  to  the  sick- 
room. Jeanette  was  sitting  in  a  large  easy-chair,  propped 
with  pillows,  her  head  resting  on  her  mother's  breast. 
The  pallor  of  death  was  on  her  cheeks,  and  her  blue 


166     THE  KECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

• 
*» 

eyes  looked  large  and  unusually  brilliant.  A  faint  smile 
lighted  her  countenance  when  she  saw  her  pastor ;  she 
attempted  to  raise  her  hand,  but  could  not.  She  looked 
toward  the  Prayer-Book,  and  without  a  word  of  conver- 
sation he  knelt  by  her  side,  and  poured  forth  from  his 
heart  the  holy  prayers  of  the  Church,  lie  remained  on 
his  knees  in  deep  grief,  after  he  had  finished  praying 
audibly.  When  he  rose  from  that  silent  prayer,  lie  took 
Jeanette's  cold  hand  in  his,  and,  in  a  low  and  gentle  tone, 
breathed  into  her  ear  all  those  precious  consolations  he 
knew  so  well  how  to  administer,  pointing  her  to  the 
"  sure  and  certain  hope  of  the  Christian " ;  and  as  he 
spoke,  the  calm,  peaceful  expression  deepened  on  the  face 
of  the  suffering  girl.  Mrs.  Lee  was  as  composed  as  a 
summer  morning  :  no  agitation  quivered  her  frame.  She 
was  thankful  one  of  the  family  had  self-control.  She 
held  Jeanette  tenderly,  and  removed  the  life-blood  that 
rose  to  her  lips  with  every  cough ;  and  it  was  all  done 
with  such  a  calm,  unmoved  air,  that  Mr.  Marshall  frit 
reproached  for  his  display  of  feeling ;  for  he  said  to  him- 
self, "  Under  all  this  coolness  the  mother's  heart  must 
beat,  and  her  composure  is  the  result  of  self-command, 
for  Jeanette's  sake." 

Josephine,  who  remained  in  the  library,  gathered  from 


OR    MY    DUTY.  167 

the  physicians  that  Jeanette  had  been  out  that  morning, 
visiting  several  poor  families  in  and  about  Moreland. 
She  had  taken  an  unusually  long  walk,  and  hurried  home 
in  the  chilly  air,  to  avoid  the  threatening  storm.  She 
was  seized  soon  after  with  a  severe  pain,  accompanied 
with  a  burning  heat  in  her  breast,  and  the  cause  soon 
discovered  itself.  Dr.  Thurston  happened  at  the  time  to 
be  in  consultation  with  Dr.  Arnold,  and  they  were  both 
called  in  immediately.  Dr.  Thurston  thought  that  with 
great  care  she  might  recover  from  this  attack  ;  although 
she  would  always  be  liable  to  the  same  occurrence  after 
over-exertion. 

After  Mr.  Marshall's  visit  was  concluded,  he  left  the 
house  with  Josephine,  the  latter  not  having  seen  any  of 
the  family.  Her  brother  was  to  go  to  the  station,  to  tele- 
graph for  Arthur  Grey,  and  Josephine  begged  that  she 
might  accompany  him,  although  the  snow  was  falling 
very  fast. 

That  walk  and  conversation  were  never  forgotten  by 
her.  She  felt  deeply,  that,  if  she  were  thus  brought  to 
death's  door,  the  peaceful  calm  that  pervaded  Jeanette's 
soul  could  not  lighten  the  "dark  valley"  for  her;  and  she 
resolved  that  her  future  life  should  be  a  preparation  for 
that  hour  "  that  cometh  alike  to  all." 


168     THE  RECTORY  OP  MORELAND: 


CHAPTER    XXIY. 

"  Is  there  in  human  form  that  bears  a  heart, 

A  -wretch,  a  villain  lost  to  love  and  truth  ! 
That  can,  with  studied,  sly,  ensnaring  art, 
Betray  sweet  Jenny's  unsuspecting  youth?" 

BURNS. 

"  And  though  thou  now  confess  thou  didst  but  jest 
With  my  vexed  spirits ;  I  cannot  take  a  truce 
But  they^vvill  quake  and  tremble  all  this  day." 

SlIAKKSFEARK. 

MARY  AND  Mr.  Maurice  parted  better  friends 
than  before.  Next  day  they  were  at  church  to- 
gether, Mr.  Maurice  taking  his  seat  with  Mary  in  the 
choir.  He  called  on  her  twice  during  the  ensuing  week ; 
and,  contrary  to  her  expectations,  Mrs.  Watkins  seemed 
pleased  with  liis  visits,  and  encouraged  a  repetition  of 
them,  and  treated  Mary  with  marked  preference  in  the 
house  and  in  the  shop. 

The  reason  of  this  change  in  her  mistress  was  beyond 


OR    MY    DUTY.  169 

Mary's  comprehension ;  but  it  was  a  relief  to  be  dealt 
kindly  with,  and  a  great  gratification  to  see  occasionally 
some  one  who  could  sympathize  in  her  tastes,  particularly 
her  taste  for  music,  and  talk  about  her  friends  at  home. 
Thus  time  went  on.  Mary  kept  her  faith  bright  and 
clear.  Mr.  Maurice  never  dared  tamper  with  that.  She 
was  strict  in  the  performance  of  her  daily  duties,  and 
constant  in  her  attendance  at  church ;  but  for  these  pre- 
servatives, and  the  watch  and  care  of  the  ever-present 
heavenly  guardians,  all  the  kind  and  delicate  attentions 
of  Mr.  Maurice  would  not  have  fallen  on  soil  so  ready 
to  receive  the  good,  and  reject  the  evil.  She  felt  more 
kindly  toward  him,  it  is  true ;  how  could  she  do  other- 
wise, when  he  was,  as  far  as  she  could  see,  making  efforts 
for  a  better  life  ?  But  she  was  ever  on  her  guard ;  there 
was  down  deep  in  her  heart,  a  sense  of  fear  and  dread 
which  was  always  there  when  he  came,  and  when  he 
Avent,  and  kept  but  partially  out  of  sight  during  his  pres- 
ence. She  had  been  persuaded  to  go  to  several  conceits 
with  him,  through  the  encouragement  of  Mrs.  "Watkins. 
He  urged  her  attending  the  opera,  but  this  she  strenu- 
ously refused,  although  Mrs.  Watkins  pronounced  her  "  a 
great  fool,"  telling  her  she  would  "  see  more  at  one  opera 

than  at  twenty  concerts." 
1.5 


170     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

I 
Mr.  Maurice  was  piqued,  somewhat  angry,  at  her  steady 

refusal,  even  when  he  offered  to  give  Miss  Turner  or  Mrs. 
Watkins  a  ticket  "  to  raatronize  her,"  and  did  not  call 
again  that  week.  Mary  hail  a  consciousness  of  having  done 
right,  that  upheld  her  through  the  constant  ban  tarings  of 
Mrs.  Watkins,  who  said,  that  through  her  foolish  obstina- 
cy she  had  lost  her  best  friend,  and  deprived  the  shop  of 
a  good  patron.  Mary  was  a  little  disappointed  that  she 
did  not  see  Mr.  Maurice  in  church  the  next  Sunday.  He 
had  been  of  late  so  constant  there,  and  expressed  himself 
so  much  pleased  Avith  all  the  ways  at  "  The  Free  Church 
of  St.  Joseph,"  and  so  gratified  with  the  preaching  of 

llev.   Dr.   Z ,   that,   unconsciously   to  herself,  Mary 

had  hoped  great  results  from  these  good  beginnings. 

The  next  week  the  errand  girl  of  the  establishment 
was  quite  ill,  and  Mary  was  despatched  with  a  parcel  to 
be  delivered  by  five  o'clock  in  West  Twenty-second 
Street.  She  was  unused  to  walking  Broadway  alone. 
Her  rare  walks  for  pleasure  were  always  through  the 
more  retired  streets ;  but  now  it  was  late,  and  she  must 
go  through  this  thoroughfare.  She  was  returning  hur- 
riedly home  after  the  delivery  of  the  parcel,  when  she 
was  stopped  at  the  corner  of  one  of  the  cro»s  streets  by 


OB    MY    DUTY.  171 

a  gang  of  rude  boys  and  men,  who  obstructed  the  Avalk, 
at  the  same  time  using  very  insulting  language.  Mary, 
half  dead  with  fright,  was  on  the  point  of  running  down 
the  cross  street,  when  one  of  the  larger  boys  laid  his 
hand  roughly  on  her  shoulder,  and  with  an  awful  oath, 
said,  "What's  your  hurry,  si.s  ?"  Quick  as  thought  there 
came  a  blow  from  behind  that  levelled  him  with  the 
earth,  and  she  was  led,  faint  and  trembling,  into  a  saloon 
near  by.  Xot  a  word  was  spoken.  Mr.  Maurice  found 
a  retired  seat,  and  took  a  place  beside  her. 

"  A  pretty  fix  you  found  yourself  in,  Mary,"  said  he, 
when  he  had  ordered  refreshments,  not  regarding  the 
pale  face  and  fluttering  heart.  "  Now  tell  me  which  is 
worse ;  to  be  going  about  New  York  alone  at  this  hour, 
or  to  go  to  the  Opera  with  me  and  Maam  "Watkins  for 
protectors  ?  " 

"  But  Mrs.  Watkins  obliged  me  to  go,"  said  Mary,  as 
soon  as  she  could  speak. 

"  Curse  Mrs.  Watkins  !  Excuse  me,  Mary,  but  she 
deserves  to  be  cursed,  if  she  don't  know  any  better  than 
to  send  a  young,  green  girl  like  you  into  Broadway  after 
dark.  I  swear  I  '11  give  the  old  thing  a  piece  of  my  mind 
on  the  subject" 


172    THE  RECTOEY  OF  MOUELAND: 

"  Don't  speak  so,  Mr.  Maurice,"  said  Mary,  attempting 
to  rise ;  "  I  must  go  home." 

"  Go  home  !  well,  you  look  like  it,"  said  he,  as  Mary, 
finding  she  could  not  stand  from  trembling,  sunk  again 
into  her  seat.  "  No,  my  darling  sister,  I  will  not  let  you 
go  yet,  or  alone.  Here,  take  these,"  he  added,  passing 
her  a  glass  of  wine  and  other  refreshments.  But  Mary 
was  too  thoroughly  frightened  to  eat  or  drink. 

"  You  shall  not  walk,"  said  Mr.  Maurice,  taking  her 
trembling  hand  in  his  ;  "  I  will  order  a  carriage."  Mary 
turned  away ;  she  did  not  like  his  looks  or  manner,  or  his 
tone  of  voice ;  neither  did  she  like  his  constant  recur- 
rence to  a  glass  of  brandy  punch  that  stood  beside  him. 
Men  and  women  flocked  in  and  out  of  that  bright  saloon, 
gay,  laughing  groups ;  but  they  took  no  notice  of  Mary. 
How  she  longed  for  one  familiar  face !  and  yet  she 
started  as  if  stung  when  she  saw  Isabella  Fitz-Gerald 
pass,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Frank  Brayton.  They 
looked  haughtily  at  her,  and  went  on  without  recogniz- 
ing Mr.  Maurice,  and  she  heard  the  gentleman  say,  "  It 
is  a  shame  for  Anthony  !  "  She  looked  beseechingly  into 
the  face  of  her  companion,  and  said,  in  a  voice  of  distress, 
"  Will  you  not  take  me  out  of  this  place  ?  take  me  home 


OR    MY    DUTY.  173 

if  you  are  my  brother."  He  ordered  a  carriage  and  took 
his  seat  beside  her.  That  ride  opened  the  eyes  of  Mary 
to  the  deep  and  dark  designs  of  Mr.  Maurice.  The  stim- 
ulants he  had  taken  overcame  his  self-control,  and  from 
protestations  of  brotherly  love  he  passed  to  language  not 
to  be  misunderstood.  She  proudly  resented  his  advances, 
reproached  him  with  the  baseness  of  his  conduct,  and 
ended  with  commanding  him  to  take  her  to  her  home, 
and  never  again  to  pollute  it  with  his  presence. 

He  tried  to  apologize ;  begged  that  they  might  be 
friends  again ;  but  her  indignant  "  Never ! "  was  imper- 
ative. The  storm- beset  mariner  could  not  be  more  de- 
lighted to  set  foot  upon  his  native  shore,  than  Mary  to 
enter  once  more  the  shop  of  hateful  Mrs.  "Watkins.  She 
exchanged  no  word  with  Mr.  Maurice,  and  refused  his 
offered  hand  in  getting  out  of  the  carriage. 

The  shower  of  reproaches  that  met  her  from  her  mis- 
tress were  suspended  by  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Maurice, 
who  followed  Mary  into  the  shop,  telling  Mrs.  Watkins 
not  to  trouble  herself ;  he  had  taken  her  to  ride,  on  his 
own  responsibility.  He  took  his  leave,  (having  pacified 
Mrs.  Watkins,)  assuring  Mary  he  should  call  for  her  to 
go  to  church  next  Sunday. 
15* 


174     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

;'  Foiled  was  perversion  by  that  youthful  iniixi 
Which  flattery  fooled  not,  baseness  could  not  blind, 
Deceit  infect  not,  nor  contagion  soil, 
Indulgence  weaken,  nor  example  spoil. 
Serenely  purest  of  her  sex  that  live, 
But  wanting  one  sweet  weakness,  —  to  forgive." 

HYRON. 

T  ITTLE  SLEEP  came  to  Mary's  pillow  that  night. 
,1  1  It  had  been  a  day  of  new  trials  to  her,  and  some- 
times she  feared  she  had  brought  them  upon  herself  by 
imprudence.  Rigidly  did  she  examine  her  own  con- 
science. Something  whispered  that  she  was  in  danger, 
and  should  inform  her  father ;  and  then  came  the  thought 
that  Mr.  Maurice  was  Mrs.  Marshall's  brother,  and  she 
paused.  Besides,  what  could  Mr.  Marshall  do  for  her? 
he  had  no  control  over  Mr.  Maurice,  and  her  lime  with 
Mrs.  "Watkins  would  not  be  out  for  some  weeks.  The 
matter  is  left  with  me,  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  rose 


OB    MY    DUTY.  175 

from  her  sleepless  couch,  "  I  must  bear  this  trial  with- 
out earthly  help " ;  and  she  knelt  down  and  prayed  for 
grace.  She  tried  to  forgive  Mr.  Maurice,  as  she  said, 
"  Forgive  us  our  trespasses,  as  we  forgive  those  that 
trespass  against  us  " ;  but  there  was  something  in  her 
heart  that  rebelled,  —  she  almost  Jiated  him.  This  made 
her  unhappy.  She  went  to  church  early  the  next  Sun- 
day, to  avoid  meeting  him  ;  but  she  had  only  taken  her 
accustomed  seat,  when  he  was  beside  her.  Two  or  three 
times  a  week  he  would  call  at  the  shop,  and  because  she 
would  not  see  him  alone,  he  would  stand  and  talk  to  her 
across  the  counter.  Mary  was  as  cold  and  silent  as 
decency  would  permit.  If  she  was  sent  of  an  errand, 
(and  it  often  came  her  turn,)  Mr.  Maurice  Avould  be  in- 
formed of  the  direction  she  had  taken,  and  would  meet 
her,  either  going  or  coming ;  and  although  the  walk  on 
her  part  was  generally  a  silent  one,  he  more  than  once 
became  her  protector  from  the  rude  jostling  of  foot-pas- 
sengers, and  once  caught  her  in  his  arms  as  the  Avheel  of 
an  omnibus  was  about  to  crush  her  to  the  earth.  So 
bitter  were  her  feelings  towai'ds  him,  aggravated  as  they 
were  by  his  system  of  dogging  her  in  all  her  walks,  that 
she  felt  when  he  landed  her  safe,  but  faint  with  fright, 


176     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND : 

i 

upon  the  sidewalk,  that  she  would  rather  have  sunk 
under  the  omnibus-wheel  than  have  been  indebted  to 
him  for  her  escape.  Anxiety  and  perplexity  wore  upon 
Mary,  more  than  the  confinement  and  tcdiousness  of  the 
work-room.  Mrs.  Watkins  scolded  her  continually  for 
her  cold,  glum  looks.  Again  and  again  did  Mr.  Maurice 
plead  for  a  renewal  of  their  friendship.  He  found  at 
length,  through  Mrs.  "Watkins's  assistance,  an  opportunity 
he  had  long  sought,  of  seeing  Mary  alone  in  the  fitting- 
room.  He  fastened  the  door  as  he  entered,  and  going  to 
her,  he  said,  holding  her  resisting  hand  :  — 

"  Mary,  how  can  you  indulge  towards  me  sucli  un- 
mitigated hatred  for  a  single  offence?  Do  you  call  this 
Christian  ?  I  have  told  you  many  times  that  I  was 
sorry  for  the  offence,  that  it  should  never  be  repr:ii< •<!, 
and  that  it  was  wholly  owing  to  that  last  glass.  You 
know,  Mary,  I  had  no  evil  design  toward  you,  and  that 
my  impudence  was  the  result  of  accident,  —  an  accident 
I  swear  shall  never  take  place  again.  AVho  would  have 
supposed  your  loving  and  sympathizing  nature  was  capa- 
ble of  such  revenge,  —  deadly  revenge?  Your  pure  faith, 
so  free  from  cant  and  hypocrisy,  and  your  daily  life,  so 
consistent  and  charitable,  almost  persuaded  me  to  be  a 


OB    MY    DUTY.  177 

Christian ;  but  with  your  bitter  feelings  toward  me,  I  do 
not  see  how  you  can  call  yourself  '  in  love  and  charity 
with  all  men.' " 

Mary  trembled,  but  did  not  reply. 

"  Well,"  said  Maurice,  dropping  her  hand  and  turning 
on  his  heel,  "  if  forgiveness  of  injuries  is  no  part  of  your 
creed,  I  can  only  say,  I  am  disappointed  in  the  only  hold 
1  had  upon  Christianity." 

Mary  had  a  hard  and  bitter  struggle  with  herself  after 
he  left  her  :  perhaps  she  had  done  wrong  ;  he  might  have 
been  won  to  goodness,  had  she  been  more  lenient.  The 
"  Go  and  sin  no  more  "  of  the  Scripture  came  to  her  like 
a  reproach,  and  her  heart  softened  to  him;  and  then 
came  the  remembrance  of  the  insult  to  her  soul  with 
stinging  freshness,  and  the  hatred  revived.  Thoughts  of 
next  Sunday's  communion  arose ;  how  could  she  receive 
comfort  and  a  sense  of  pardon  in  that  sacrament,  while 
she  refused  forgiveness  to  a  fellow-creature?  She  was 
overwhelmed  with  the  bitterness  of  her  own  thoughts. 
She  wished  she  could  walk  out  in  the  cool,  bracing  air ; 
but  she  might  meet  Mr.  Maurice.  She  thought  of  the 
daily  evening  service,  where  her  heart  often  wandered, 
although  her  feet  were  seldom  found  there ;  but  the  same 


178  THE    BECT011Y    OF    MORELAND: 

•4P 

fear  that  Mr.  Maurice  might  meet  her,  and  urge  more  of 
those  unanswered  questions,  haunted  her,  and  .she  did  not 
ask  permission  to  go.  It  was  the  evening  which  she  once 
in  two  weeks  devoted  to  writing  home.  She  had  received 
no  answer  to  her  last  letter,  written  to  her  father  just  be- 
fore that  unfortunate  ride.  In  that  letter  she  had  men- 
tioned Mr.  Maurice,  and  spoken  of  his  kindness  to  her,  but 
she  had  never  received  Mr.  Marshall's  reply,  in  which 
he  cautioned  her  very  plainly  against  Mr.  Maurice,  and 
requested  her  to  have  as  little  intercourse  with  him  as  pos- 
sible, and  on  no  account  to  go  into  the  street  with  him. 
This  letter  never  reached  its  destination.  Young  and 
inexperienced,  with  a  conscience  so  tender  that  the  least 
deviation  from  the  path  of  duty  caused  her  acute  suffer- 
ing, it  is  not  surprising  that  she  felt  keenly  the  utter 
loneliness  of  her  situation.  Mr.  Maurice  had  annoyed 
and  perplexed  her  that  day  more  than  ever:  and  with 
:i  desperate  struggle  she  resolved  to  open  her  whole  heart 
to  her  father.  She  commenced  a  letter,  but  it  seemed  so 
cold  and  formal,  and  so  pointless,  that  she  committed  it 
to  the  flames.  She  remembered  how  he  loved  straight  - 
forward  sincerity,  and  how  often  lie  had  told  her  to  keep 
nothing  from  him,  and  she  commenced  another  with 
1  letter  success. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  179 

This  letter  brought  Mr.  Marshall  to  the  station  the 
morning  after  his  visit  to  Jeanette's  sick-room. 

New  York,  November,  18 — . 
DEAREST  FATHER  :  — 

For  three  weeks  I  have  heard  nothing  from  you,  and 
my  heart  is  very  weary  to-night,  and  I  long  to  sit  at  your 
feet  and  tell  you  all  that  troubles  me.  I  have  refrained 
from  speaking  of  my  perplexities  to  you  for  a  long  time, 
for  I  do  not  see  that  you  can  help  me :  and  yet,  if  it  is 
my  duty,  I  ought  to  do  it. 

Mr.  Maurice's  constant  attentions  and  presence  have 
become  very  annoying  to  me.  At  first,  it  was  pleasant 
to  have  some  friend  whom  I  had  known  in  Moreland  to 
whom  I  could  speak  of  you  all ;  but  I  now  have  reason 
to  regret  that  I  ever  considered  him  a  friend.  If  I  had 
known  any  way  to  rid  myself  of  his  society,  I  would  not 
have  troubled  you  ;  even  now  my  heart  reproaches  me, 
knowing,  as  I  do,  that  he  is  Mrs.  Marshall's  brother. 
Mrs.  Watkins,  instead  of  helping  me  in  this  matter,  en- 
courages him  in  his  intimacy  here.  But,  my  dear  father, 
if  I  could  tell  you  all,  you  would  not  wonder  that  I  am 
irritable  and  nervous.  My  conscience  reproaches  me  for 
the  bitter  hatred  I  feel  towards  him,  and  he  has  justly 


180     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAXD: 

taunted  me  with  my  want  of  "  love'  and  charity,"  and 
warned  me  not  to  appear  at  the  Lord's  table :  and  yet, 
with  all  my  efforts,  no  change  is  wrought  in  my  feelings 
toward  him.  My  most  earnest  entreaties  that  he  would 
refrain  from  calling  upon  me,  or  meeting  me  in  my  walks, 
are  unavailing,  and  I  have  learned,  by  repeated  and  bit- 
ter experience,  that  his  motive  for  seeking  my  society  is 
not,  as  he  professes,  a  kind  one.  My  nerves  are  so  af- 
fected by  this  continued  trouble,  that  I  am  always  at 
fault  in  the  work-room  and  shop. 

I  shall  look  eagerly  for  a  line  from  you,  giving  me 
counsel  and  advice.  I  already  feel  relieved,  having  un- 
burdened my  sorrows  to  you. 

Your  affectionate  daughter, 

MARY. 


OK    MY    DUTY.  181 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

"  She  said  she  wished  to  die,  sun!  so  she  died ; 
For  cloud-like  she  poured  out  her  love,  which  was 
Her  life,  to  freshen  this  parched  heart." 

FKSTUS. 

"  '  Peace '  ere  we  kneel,  and  when  we  cease 
To  pray,  the  farewell  word  is  '  Peace.'  " 

KEBLK. 

WHEN  ME.  MARSHALL  reached  the  railroad 
station   the    morning  after    he   received  Mary's 
letter,  a  heavy  fall  of  snow  had  so  blocked  the  roads 
during  the  night,  that  it  Avas  uncertain  how  long  it  might 
be  before  he  could  start  for  New  York. 

What  concentrated  suffering  he  endured  Avhile  waiting 
for  that  tardy  train !  His  suspicions  of  Mr.  Maurice 
had  grown  deeper,  till  now  suspicion  was  certainty.  He 
knew  that  such  a  villain  as  he  had  already  proved  him- 
self, would  not  scruple  to  accomplish  his  dark  designs 
under  favorable  circumstances.  Mary,  he  feared,  had 

- 


182     THE  KECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

| 

not  told  him  all ;  she  wrote  timidly,  and  what  might  she 
not  have  endured  since  this  letter  Avas  written,  from  the 
united  persecutions  of  Maurice  and  Mrs.  "VVatkins !  He 
paced  the  platform,  unheeding  the  crowd  gathering 
around.  As  he  paused  a  moment  in  his  rapid  strides 
to  look  out  on  a  happy  group  of  children  playing  in 
the  snow,  a  sleigh,  very  beautifully  equipped,  was  driven 
rapidly  by.  A  by-stander  remarked,  "  That 's  young 
Grey,  going  up  to  the  Squire's ;  he  looks  as  if  he  had 
ridden  all  night."  Mr.  Marshall  started :  he  ought  to 
see  Jeanette  before  leaving  town,  —  it  might  be  too  late 
when  he  returned.  He  directed  his  steps  toward  the 
Mansion-House,  and  then,  with  his  usual  delicacy,  re- 
membered that  it  would  be  better  not  to  intrude  upon 
the  first  meeting  of  the  young  lovers.  Old  Mrs.  May- 
nard  was  very  low,  and  required  his  pastoral  care,  and 
he  would  see  her  first.  Much  to  the  joy  of  his  sorrowful 
heart,  the  good  lady  was  alone.  Many  times  had  he 
found  his  hope  brighter,  and  his  path  clearer,  after  a 
visit  to  this  aged  pilgrim  :  but  never  was  his  wayworn 
spirit  more  refreshed  and  strengthened,  than  during  this 
call ;  he  came  away  with  new  trust  in  the  watchful  care 
of  his  ever-present  Friend.  When  he  entered  the  Man- 


OB    MY    DUTY.  183 

sion-House,  Mrs.  Lee  met  him  in  the  hall,  and  asked  him 
into  the  drawing-room. 

"  Jeanette  is  a  little  more  comfortable  to-day,"  said  she, 
in  answer  to  Mr.  Marshall's  inquiries,  hut  her  manner 
was  constrained  and  cool.  "  She  has  asked  for  you," 
she  said  at  length,  "several  times  this  morning,  but  I 
have  put  her  off:  any  excitement  overcomes  her,  and 
Arthur's  arrival  has  agitated  her.  I  think  it  would  be 
well  to  avoid  much  conversation  on  her  danger ;  she  has 
never  learned  self-control,  and  I  do  not  think  she  is  con- 
scious how  ill  she  is.  Her  father  spoke  of  the  Com- 
munion, hut  of  course,  in  her  weak  state,  that  is  not 
to  be  thought  of." 

Mr.  Marshall  did  not  reply  to  this  formal  speech,  but 
looked  searchingly  into  Mrs.  Lee's  face  to  see  if  she 
really  meant  all  that  her  words  implied. 

"  I  wish,"  she  added,  turning  away  from  the  inquiring 
eye  of  her  pastor,  "  you  would  speak  with  Ralph ;  he  is 
almost  frantic,  and  I  have  forbidden  his  coming  into 
Jeanette's  room.  I  hear  him  in  the  library." 

She  led  the  way.  Ralph  was  prostrate  on  the  floor ; 
his  sobs  were  pitiful. 

"  Come,  Ralph,"  said  Mrs.  Lee,  endeavoring  in  vain 


184    THE  KECTOEY  OF  MORELAND: 

v 
. 

to  lift  him  from  the  floor,  "  come,  it  is  time  you  composed 
yourself.  I  am  astonished  that  you  cannot  command  your 
feelings." 

The  sobs  were  rather  increased  than  diminished  by 
these  remarks. 

"  Leave  him  with  me,"  said  Mr.  Marshall,  "  I  may 
possibly  quiet  him." 

Mrs.  Lee  closed  the  door  after  her ;  and  Mr.  Marshall, 
taking  a  seat  on  the  sofa,  said,  very  quietly,  "  Come  here, 
Ralph,  my  son ;  come  to  me,  I  wish  to  talk  with  you." 

That  was  a  voice  Ralph  had  always  been  accustomed 
to  respect,  and  he  came  at  once  and  climbed  upon  his 
pastor's  knee. 

"  I  don't  love  mamma,  nor  Virginia,  nor  God,"  he  said, 
looking  up  with  his  tearful,  swollen  face.  "  Mamma  and 
Virginia  put  me  out  of  dear  Nettie's  room,  when  I  prom- 
ised I  would  not  cry,  and  Nettie  begged  them  to  let  me 
stay ;  and  God  took  away  my  dear  mother,  and  now  he 
is  going  to  take  my  sister  Nettie,  and  I  don't  love  him, 
and  I  wish  I  was  dead  too."  And  then  came  another 
fresh  burst  of  tears. 

Mr.  Marshall  waited  until  the  paroxysm  was  over, 
and  then  said,  gravely :  "  But,  Ralph,  my  boy,  if  you 


OR    MY    DUTY.  1&> 

were  to  have  your  wish,  and  die  now,  how  could  you 
be  happy,  if  you  did  not  love  God  ?  Nettie  is  God's 
own  child  ;  he  lent  her  to  papa  and  mamma  for  some 
years,  and  now  he  calls  her  to  Paradise.  You  know, 
my  dear  child,  God  has  the  best  right  to  Nettie,  and 
loves  her  better  than  you  and  I  can  love.  Suppose  I 
should  go  away  into  a  far  country,  and  leave  my  little 
Alice  with  some  kind  person,  and  provide  for  all  her 
wants  during  my  absence,  and  by  and  by  I  should 
return  and  claim  her  again  as  mine ;  should  n't  I  have 
a  right  to  take  her  home  to  myself?  Some  time  you 
will  know  why  all  these  things  are,  but  now  you  must 
be  willing  God  should  take  from  you  whatever  he  sees 
best.  You  are  a  Christian  child,  and  I  cannot  think 
you  do  not  love  your  Heavenly  Father." 

"  But  J  want  to  see  Nettie,  and  I  want  to  be  in  her 
room." 

l'  You  want  to  have  your  own  way,  Ralph.  The 
Christian  child  should 

'  Strive  all  day 

To  yield  his  will  to  others'  will, 
His  way  to  others'  way.' 

When  you  are  calm   and  quiet,  and   promise  mamma 
16* 


186     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

that  you  will  make  no  noise,  I  think  you'  may  see  Sister 
Nettie  again." 

Ralph  looked  up  with  his  great  black  eyes,  as  if  this 
were  a  lesson  'he  understood,  and  did  not  exactly  relish, 
yet  did  not  dare  rebel  against.  Their  conference  was 
interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Arthur  Grey,  looking  pale 
and  haggard.  He  shook  hands  cordially  with  Mr.  Mar- 
shall, but  turned  away  his  face  to  hide  the  emotion  which 
thrilled  his  frame.  Mr.  Mai-shall  pressed  his  hand,  and 
said,  in  a  voice  full  of  sympathy :  "  Jeanette  is  more  ill 
than  you  expected  to  find  her  ?  " 

"  They  call  her  better,  more  comfortable,"  said  the 
young  man,  "but  I  fear  the  worst;  for  she  does  not 
seem  natural  to  me." 

"  Not  natural ! "  said  Mr.  Marshall,  starting ;  "  why  ? 
In  what  way  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  O,  it  is  unnatural  that  one  so  young,  so  beautiful,  and 
so  loved,  —  one  who  has  everything  to  live  for,  should 
be  so  willing  to  go,  —  to  go,  and  leave  all  so  desolate." 
He  could  contain  his  grief  no  longer,  but  wept  bitterly. 

"  It  is  unnatural"  replied  the  clergyman,  with  a  deep 
sigh,  "  it  is  contrary  to  nature  ;  but  it  is  a  work  of  -grace, 
and  a  precious  proof  of  the  love  and  tender  care  of  our 


OR    MY    DUTY.  187 

Redeemer,  who  often  thus  lights  the  dark  valley  to  the 
trusting  child  of  God.  It  is  a  triumph  of  heavenly  faith 
over  earthly  affection,  that  she  is  willing  to  leave  even 
such  love  as  yours,  Arthur. 

'  Grace  does  not  steel  the  faithful  heart, 
That  it  should  know  no  ill. 

But  ever  as  the  wound  is  given, 
There  is  a  hand  unseen, 
Hasting  to  wipe  away  the  scar, 
And  hide  where  it  has  been.'  " 

Arthur  shook  his  head  doubtfully,  as  Mr.  Marshall 
slowly  repeated  these  lines. 

"  Arthur,  you  do  not  do  justice  to  Jeanette  by  your 
doubts.  I  have  seen  the  widowed  mother  leave  her  help- 
less orphans  in  the  cold  world,  without  a  misgiving  of 
that  care  which  hath  said,  '  Leave  thy  fatherless  children 
with  me.'  You  may  feel  that  trust,  if  you  will.  It  may 
be  that  in  touching  Jeanette,  God  has  stricken  the  idol 
that  keeps  your  heart  from  him ;  and  in  bringing  her 
near  the  grave,  he  is  showing  you  the  unsatisfying  na- 
ture of  the  dearest  earthly  joys.  God  grant,  my  son, 
the  voice  may  not  come  to  you  in  vain." 

Mr.  Marshall  found  Jeanette  where  he  had  seen  her 


188     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

^ 

the  previous  day.  Her  eye  was  brighter,  and  she  wel- 
comed him  warmly,  retaining  his  hand  in  hers,  as  he 
seated  himself  by  her  side.  Her  soul  was  calm  and 
peaceful.  No£  a  shadow  on  her  path :  she  only  wished 
Arthur  might  be  willing  to  have  it  so.  She  desired  to 
receive  the  Holy  Communion ;  but  the  physicians  advised 
her  to  defer  it  until  the  next  afternoon,  and  recommended 
perfect  quiet,  expressing  a  hope  that  she  might  rally  from 
this  attack. 

"  I  should  love  to  have  seen  dear  Mary  once  more," 
said  Jeanette,  looking  up  into  her  pastor's  face,  as  he  was 
about  to  leave  her.  "  I  owe  much  to  Mary,  —  many  a 
path  of  duty  has  she  made  plain  for  me." 

Mr.  Marshall  did  not  notice  the  slight  frown  that 
passed  across  Mrs.  Lee's  face,  but  said,  tenderly  :  "  I 
hope,  my  dear  child,  you  may  see  her  again ;  and  per- 
haps she  may  be  with  us  to-morrow,  if  we  are  permitted 
to  take  that  holy  feast  together.  I  am  going  for  her 
to-day." 

"  How  kind  !  "  said  Jeanette,  faintly. 


OB    MY    DUTY.  189 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

"  All  things  unto  me 

Show  their  dark  sides :  somewhere  there  must  be  light. 
Let  us  thiuk  less  of  men,  and  more  of  God." 

FESTUS. 

MARY  EVANS  was  weeping  violently  in  the  fit- 
ting-room attached  to  Mrs.  TTatkins's  shop.  Mr. 
Maurice  had  been  there  a  long  time.  He  had  bought 
tickets  for  the  first  concert  in  New  York  of  a  famous 
cantatrice,  and  had  brought  one  to  Mary,  hoping  she 
would  accept  it,  and  go  under  his  escort ;  but  she  de- 
clined, —  did  not  even  hesitate  before  such  a  tempta- 
tion, as  he  thought  she  would,  but  refused  decidedly. 
He  had  tried  all  his  customary  methods  of  courting  her 
sympathy,  coaxing,  persuading,  to  no  purpose.  Then 
he  had  broken  out  into  a  paroxysm  of  passion  that  was 
fearful  to  behold;  calling  her  everything  but  what  she 
was,  and  swearing  at  her  with  oaths  that  rung  in  her 


190          THE    RECTORY    OF    MORJEL AND  : 

ears  for  weeks.  Employing  the  most  degrading  epi- 
thets, he  accused  her  of  cant  and  hypocrisy,  hinted 
darkly  of  what  had  already  been  said  of  her  in  New 
York  ;  and  added,  if  she  hoped  to  rid  herself  of  him 
by  this  sullen  obstinacy,  she  would  find  herself  mis- 
taken. 

She  had  given  up  to  grief;  her  head  was  bowed  on 
the  arm  of  the  sofa  where  he  had  left  her.  The  door 
opened,  and  she  heard  again  the  step  of  a  man.  It 
seemed  to  her  she  could  bear  no  more  from  him,  and 
she  trembled  and  grew  cold,  as  she  heard  the  bolt  drawn 
after  the  door  was  closed.  The  sense  of  relief,  of  res- 
cue, was  almost  overwhelming,  when  her  father  took  his 
seat  by  her,  and  drew  her  towards  him.  Much  she 
then  and  there  disclosed  to  him  which  she  had  thought 
was  for  ever  locked  in  her  own  bosom. 

"  Mary,"  said  Mr.  Marshall,  when  his  indignation 
and  sympathy  for  his  daughter  would  let  him  speak, 
"I'll  not  leave  you  another  day  in  this  place.  Can 
you  get  ready  to  leave  with  me  in  the  express-train  at 
eight  o'clock  to-night  ?  It  is  now  five.  Don't  trouble 
yourself  about  Mrs.  Watkins.  I  cannot  excuse  her  want 
of  care  for  a  motherless  girl,  or  understand  her  encour- 


OR    MY    DUTY.  191 

aging  this  villain.  I  shall  settle  the  matter  with  her, 
and  pay  her  whatever  damages  she  may  require." 

Mrs.  "Watkins  was  at  first  determined  in  her  refusal 
to  part  with  Mary ;  but  when  she  found  the  clergyman 
was  more  than  her  equal  in  determination,  she  accepted 
a  sum  that  doubly  paid  her  for  the  remaining  month  of 
Mary's  time,  saying,  that  Mary  had  been  so  taken  tip 
for  a  month  past  with  Mr.  Maurice,  that  she  had  been 
of  no  use  to  her. 

Mary  was  fearful  that  they  might  meet  Mr.  Maurice 
before  they  left  town.  She  saw  by  the  hasty  step,  and 
the  firm,  compressed  lip,  that  there  was  a  volcano  of 
repressed  indignation  in  her  father's  breast:  but  fortu- 
nately for  them  all,  he  did  not  cross  their  path.  They 
were  half-way  home  before  Mr.  Marshall  had  recov- 
ered his  usual  quietness,  and  remembered  that  he  had 
not  told  Mary  of  Jeanette's  illness. 

She  was  deeply  grieved  with  this  intelligence,  but 
thankful  for  the  hope  that  she  should  see  her  friend 
once  more  in  the  land  of  the  living. 

Many  were  the  surprises  and  suspicions  at  Mary's 
sudden  return  from  New  York.  None  were  more  as- 
tonished than  the  inmates  of  the  Rectory ;  but  they 


192     THE  RECTORY  OP  MORELAND: 

obtained  no  light  on  the  matter  from  the  Rector,  and 
almost  as  little  from  Mary,  whom  he  had  told  to  an- 
swer all  inquiries  as  to  her  return  by  saying  it  was 
his  wish,  —  that  was  sufficient 

***** 

"  So  the  bird  has  flown !  Clean  gone  out  of  your 
clutches,  Anthony  !  Well,  I  must  say.  I  'in  glad  of  it." 

This  was  addressed  to  Maurice  by  a  handsome  young 
fellow,  none  other  than  Frank  Brayton,  as  they  sat  in 
a  private  parlor  at  the  Astor  House,  over  their  Cham- 
pagne and  cigars.  "  Here 's  to  her  health  and  virtue," 
he  added,  draining  his  glass. 

"  Gone  out  of  my  clutches,  Frank ! "  said  Maurice, 
"  I  would  n't  harm  the  girl.  It  would  be  pleasant  to 
be  loved  by  one  so  good,  and  pure,  and  guileless." 

"  But  instead  of  that,  Maurice,  by  your  own  account, 
you  have  turned  the  very  milk  of  human  kindness  in 
her  breast  into  bitter  hatred  toward  you ;  but  cheer  up, 
my  good  fellow,  it  is  n't  the  first  mistake  of  the  kind 
you  have  made ;  and  there  's  good  fish  in  the  sea  yet." 

"What  a  fool  I  am!"  said  Maurice,  rising,  with  an 
oath.  "  Come !  let 's  go  somewhere,  —  anywhere." 

"You  are  a  strange  genius,  Maurice.      Shall  I  tell 


OR    MY    DUTY.  193 

you  what  Donna  Bella  says  of  you,  when  you  have 
these  uneasy  turns,  and  want  to  go  '  somewhere,  —  any- 
where '  ?  She  says  she  thinks  you  must  have  committed 
a  great  crime,  that  makes  you  so  restless." 

"  Great  crime  I  I  've  committed  more  than  one," 
said  Maurice  with  a  sneer.  '•  Come !  let 's  go  to  the 
billiard-room." 

Maurice  strove  to  drive  away  thought,  and  he  suc- 
ceeded ;  for  it  was  something  to  which  he  had  ac- 
customed himself.  He  had  really  been  caught  in  his 
own  net.  Mary  held  a  larger  share  in  his  affections 
than  he  was  willing  to  acknowledge  to  himself.  Her 
image  was  associated  with  his  mother's  memory.  There 
was  one  bright  spot  in  his  dark,  sensual  heart  sacred 
to  the  memory  of  his  mother,  and  Mary's  face,  and  her 
sweet,  sympathizing  ways,  mingled  with  that  remem- 
brance. 


17 


194    THE  KECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

"  Happy  as  heaven  have  I  been  with  thec,  love ! 
Thine  innocent  heart  hath  passed  through  a  pure  life, 
Like  a  white  dove  wing-sunned  through  the  blue  sky. 
A  better  heart  God  never  saved  in  heaven. 
She  died  as  all  the  good  die,  —  blessing,  hoping. 
There  are  some  hearts,  aloe-like,  flower  once,  and  die. 
And  hers  was  of  them." 

FKSTUS. 

«TT  IS  a  month  to-day,  dear  Nettie,"  said  Arthur, 
JL  as  he  held  her  thin  hand  in  his,  — "  just  a  month 
to-day  since  you  were  taken  sick.  Dr.  Thurston  and 
Dr.  Arnold  both  think  a  Southern  climate  would  benefit 
you,  perhaps  restore  you.  Why  will  you  not,  then,  give 
me  a  right  to  carry  you  to  my  bright  Southern  home  ? 
Here,"  he  added,  taking  a  letter  from  his  pocket,  "  here 
is  my  blessed  mother's  welcome.  Mr.  Marshall  has 
given  his  consent  that  Mary  shall  accompany  us,  and 
why  should  it  not  be  so  ?  Nothing  could  make  you 
nearer  or  dearer,  Nettie ;  but  if  you  were  my  wife  — 


OB    MY    DUTY.  195 

"  Yes,  nearer  and  dearer ;  for  it  is  a  relation  hallowed 
by  the  prayers  of  the  Church,"  said  Nettie  musingly. 

"And  if  you  were  my  wife,  Nettie  dear,  I  should 
have  a  right  to  watch  you  night  and  day.  It  galls  me 
to  be  excluded  from  your  room.  Dr.  Thurston  says, 
if  you  remain  here,  you  cannot  possibly  get  out  of  doors 
before  June ;  and  we  all  know  that  the  air  is  necessary 
to  strengthen  you.  Say,  then,  dearest,  will  you  not  try 
what  the  sunny  South  and  my  care  may  do  for  you  ? " 

Jeanette  put  back  the  chestnut  curl  that  had  fallen 
as  he  stooped  to  kiss  her,  and,  looking  into  his  face 
with  an  earnest  and  truthful,  yet  saddened  gaze,  she  re- 
plied, "Arthur,  you  are  deceiving  yourself.  I  feel  that 
I  can  never  reach  that  lovely  home,  which  has  been 
the  theme  of  so  many  of  our  pleasant  talks.  It  would 
be  very  pleasant  to  be  called  by  your  name,  dearest," 
she  added,  seeing  the  mournful  look  gathering  on  his 
brow.  "It  is  very  kind  of  your  mother  to  wish  to 
take  to  her  heart  such  a  burden  as  I  am  in  my  pres- 
ent state.  I  will  be  your  wife,  dear  Arthur,  if  you 
wish  it  so  much,  but  I  would  rather  die  here  in  my 
childhood's  home.  There  is  something  sweet  to  me  in 
the  thought  of  resting  my  weary  head  beneath  the 


196     THE  RECTORY  OP  MORELAND : 

shadow  of  our  beloved  church,  and  having  my  dying 
moments  soothed  by  the  voice  of  my  own  dear  pastor. 
Do  not  weep,  Arthur,"  she  said  caressingly ;  "  you  dis- 
tress me.  It  would  be  wrong  in  me,  dearest,  —  Avould 
it  not  ?  —  to  encourage  'your  hopes,  when  I  feel  my 
days  are  numbered." 

"  But  it  seems  strange  that  you,  my  gentle,  yielding 
Nettie,  should  so  strenuously  hold  an  opinion  at  variance 
with  the  best  medical  advice  we  have  been  able  to  pro- 
cure. Dr.  Thurston  told  me  this  morning,  that  your 
lungs  were  perfectly  sound,  though  weak  ;  that  he  had 
known  cases  like  yours,  where  the  individuals  had  been 
entirely  restored  by  passing  a  winter  or  two  at  the 
South." 

Jeanette  did  not  reply,  but  rested  her  head  wearily. 
*  *  *  *  # 

The  drawing-rooms  at  the  Mansion-House  were  deco- 
rated with  their  accustomed  evergreens  at  the  Christ- 
mas festival.  Jeanette  was  better,  decidedly :  so  much 
stronger,  that  the  physicians  had  given  their  opinion  that, 
if  the  long,  cold  New  England  winter  and  spring  could 
be  passed  at  the  South,  she  would  regain  her  wonted 
health.  She  had  dined  with  the  family  on  Christmas 


OR    MY    DUTY.  197 

day.  Arthur  was  by  her  side,  proud  and  happy.  He 
had  gained  his  point ;  and  in  three  days  she  was  to  be 
his  bride. 

"  Did  you  choose  the  Festival  of  the  Holy  Innocents 
for  your  bridal  day,  my  daughter,  by  design,  or  by  acci- 
dent?" 

This  was  said  by  Mr.  Marshall  to  Jeanette,  as  he  sat 
by  her  side  after  the  Christinas  dinner.  She  smiled  one 
of  those  sweet,  heavenly  smiles  that  leave  upon  the  be- 
holder a  feeling  of  sadness  mingled  with  pleasure,  as 
she  replied,  "The  Festival  of  the  Holy  Innocents  was 
always  to  me  one  of  the  brightest  pearls  in  the  band  of 
jewels  with  which  the  Church  binds  together  her  annual 
round  of  services ;  and  to-day  the  closing  lines  of  Keble 
for  that  festival  are  continually  in  my  mind, — 

'  How  happier  far  than  life,  the  end 
Of  souls  that,  infant-like,  beneath  their  burden  bend ! ' 

But  I  have  not  answered  your  question  :  I  think  our 
wedding  was  not  appointed  designedly  on  that  day,  but 
I  am  happy  that  it  is  to  be  then." 

After  the  full  service  at  church  on  the  Feast  of  the 
Holy  Innocents,  the  Rector  and  his  family  —  (who  were 
the  only  invited  guests  save  Dr.  Thurston,  who  had  be- 
17* 


198     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

come  a  warm  friend  of  the  youthful  pair)  —  met  in  the 
library  at  the  Mansion-House.  Jeanette  had  chosen  the 
library,  no  one  knew  why ;  but  Mary  thought  of  her 
dream.  By  earnest  persuasion  Mary  had  been  induced 
to  act  the  part  of  bridesmaid.  The  bride  looked  touch- 
ingly  lovely,  in  her  dress  of  pure  white.  A  cross  tipped 
with  gold,  woven  with  a  lock  of  her  own  and  Arthur's 
hair,  was  her  only  ornament  There  was  a  slight  flush 
on  the  bride's  face,  when  the  service  commenced ;  but  it 
passed,  and  a  holy  calmness  succeeded.  Distinctly  she 
uttered  every  word  of  those  solemn  vows.  Hers  was 
the  only  dry  eye,  as  she  looked  up  so  sweetly  when 
she  said,  "  till  death  us  do  part."  Even  Mr.  Marshall, 
with  his  lofty  bearing  and  commanding  presence,  fal- 
tered, and  Mrs.  Lee,  with  all  her  self-command,  wept. 
The  days  succeeding  the  wedding  were  very  cold,  and 
nothing  was  said  of  the  journey  South  till  the  January 
thaw.  Then  trunks  were  packed,  and  all  arrangements 
made  for  the  departure  of  the  bridal  party.  Mary  was 
to  be  their  companion.  Mr.  Marshall  and  Josephine 
had  come  in  to  pass  the  last  evening  of  their  stay. 
To-morrow  the  clergyman  was  to  part  with  three  that 
were  like  children  to  him :  and  he  felt  saddened  by  the 


OE    MY    DUTY.  199 

thought  But  his  own  feelings  were  but  a  secondary 
consideration,  and  he  exerted  himself  to  make  the  even- 
ing as  agreeable  and  cheerful  as  possible.  Jeanette  was 
the  most  lively  and  animated  of  the  company ;  she  had 
not  seemed  so  much  like  herself  since  her  illness,  and 
Arthur's  cup  of  happiness  was  full.  Dr.  Thurston  Avas 
there,  and  made  arrangements  to  meet  the  bridal  party 
in  Savannah,  during  the  winter. 

The  hour  of  parting  came  at  length,  and  Mr.  Marshall 
went  to  take  leave  of  Jeanette.  She  coughed  slightly,  and, 
turning  to  Arthur,  said  faintly,  "Water!"  Dr.  Thurston 
came  forward  immediately ;  his  looks  confirmed  the  fear 
that  had  thrilled  like  an  electric  shock  through  every 
heart.  Arthur  loosened  her  travelling-dress,  as  he  held 
her  in  his  arms,  and  Mary  wiped  the  fearful  life-blood, 
as  it  flowed  from  her  lips.  She  spoke  not,  smiled  once 
upon  them  all,  and  gave  her  hand  to  Mr.  Marshall,  but 
it  was  cold.  She  turned  to  Arthur,  settled  her  head  on 
his  breast,  and  closed  her  eyes  for  ever.  Before  the 
clergyman,  surrounded  by  suffocating  tears  and  sobs, 
had  finished  the  Commendatory  Prayer,  her  soul  was 
carried  to  the  Paradise  of  the  good. 

What  was  Moreland  now  to  Arthur  Grey,  —  the  place 


200    THE  RECTORY  OP  MORELAND: 

where  he  had  Avon  and  lost  all  that  to  him  seemed 
•worth  living  for  ?  As  soon  as  the  burial  was  over,  he 
hastened  his  departure.  He  would  take  nothing  that 
was  Jeanette's,  save  the  cross  she  wore  at  her  wedding. 

As  he  was  about  to  take  leave  of  Mr.  Marshall,  he 
remembered  what  Jeanette  had  often  said  to  him  during 
her  illness,  —  "  When  I  am  gone,  let  Mr.  Marshall  be 
your  best  friend  ;  lie  will  comfort  you  better  than  any 
one."  He  turned  to  him,  and,  grasping  his  hand  ear- 
nestly, said,  "If  it  will  not  be  too  much  to  ask,  will 
you  sometimes  write  to  me  for  her  sake?" 

The  clergyman  returned  the  young  man's  warm  grasp, 
and  said,  "It  will  be  pleasant  to  me  to  write  to  you. 
God  bless  you,  my  son,  and  cause  His  face  to  shine 
upon  you,  and  give  you  peace." 


OR    MY    DUTY.  201 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

"  Extended  or  contracted,  sill  proportions 
To  a  most  hideous  object.     Thence  it  came, 
That  she,  whom  all  men  praised,     .... 
was  in  mine  eye 

The  dust  that  did  offend  it." 

SHAKESPEARE. 

TEANETTE'S  SUDDEN  death  cast  a  shadow  over 
fj  the  Rectory,  as  well  as  the  Mansion-House.  Mary 
was  still  there,  although  Mrs.  Watkins  had  written  for  her 
to  come  back,  offering  her  good  inducements ;  and  Miss 
Maynard  had  sought  her  as  an  assistant  in  village  dress- 
making. Her  father  was  not  willing  she  should  accept 
this  latter  situation,  having  learned  from  Josephine  the 
ill-natured  remarks  Miss  Maynard  had  continually  made 
of  Mary.  Josephine  was  so  changed,  by  the  good  use  of 
suffering,  that  Mary  found  much  comfort  in  her  society. 
She  never  made  known  to  Josephine  the  insight  she  had 
gained  into  the  character  of  Anthony  Maurice ;  and,  al- 
though she  acknowledged  she  had  seen  him  often  in  New 


202     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND  : 

*  *- 

York,  yet  she  satisfied  Josephine  by  saying  her  opinion  of 
him  was  unchanged,  —  he  was  wholly  unworthy  of  trust. 
Mrs.  Marshall  was  not  so  easily  silenced :  having  learned 
that  Mary  had  often  seen  Maurice,  she  was  constantly 
plying  her  with  questions  that  she  found  it  difficult  to 
answer.  On  any  other  subject,  Josephine  would  have 
come  to  her  assistance ;  but  here  was  unsafe  ground  for 
her,  and  she  generally  left  the  room  when  Mrs.  Mar- 
shall made  her  brother  the  theme  of  conversation.  Such 
questioning  was  very  annoying  to  Mary ;  and  instead  of 
becoming  less  frequent,  it  had  increased,  since  Virginia 
Lee  had  given  Mrs.  Marshall  a  hint,  coming  through 
Miss  Maynard  from  Mrs.  Watkins,  that  "  Mary  had  been 
very  much  taken  up  with  Mr.  Maurice,  and  that  was  the 
reason  why  Mr.  Marshall  had  brought  her  so  suddenly 
home." 

"I  have  it,"  said  Virginia  Lee,  as  she  came  into  the 
nursery,  where  Mrs.  Marshall  and  Mary  were  busily 
engaged  sewing,  one  cold  afternoon  in  February.  She 
was  holding  up  a  letter ;  and  as  Mary  looked  from  her 
work,  she  thought  she  had  never  seen  any  one  as  beau- 
tiful as  Virginia.  Her  rich  brunette  complexion  was 
glowing  with  the  exhilaration  of  a  sleigh-ride.  Her  jet- 


OR    MY    DUTY.  203 

black  hair  was  braided  in  massive  folds  about  a  head 
of  finest  Grecian  mould.  There  was  a  slight  look  of 
hauteur  about  her  mouth ;  but  her  large,  lustrous  eyes, 
beaming  and  sparkling  with  life  and  health,  contradicted 
the  expression  of  the  lower  part  of  her  face.  She  came 
into  the  room  evidently  prepared  to  pass  the  afternoon. 
"  Here  it  is,  —  I  have  it,  —  a  letter  at  last  from  Anthony 
Maurice." 

"  I  am  glad  he  has  condescended  to  write  to  any  one," 
said  Mrs.  Marshall,  in  an  impatient  tone  ;  "  and  I  am 
rejoiced  to  see  you,  for  it  is  wonderfully  stupid  here  this 

afternoon.      Husband  has   gone  to   S to   exchange 

with  Rev.  Mr.  Trask." 

«  Mr.  Trask  ?  Dear  me  !  I  shall  stay  at  home  from 
church  if  that 's  the  case.  But  your  brother  inquires 
for  his  **  pet  sister.'  Of  course  that 's  you"  she  said,  at 
the  same  tune  casting  a  searching  glance  toward  Mary. 
Mary  felt  the  deep  crimson  flush  that  dyed  her  neck,  but 
she  did  not  raise  her  eyes. 

"  Well,  I  'm  glad  if  he  remembers  he  has  a  sister," 
said  Mrs.  Marshall ;  "  I  have  tried  in  vain  to  learn  some- 
thing about  him  from  Mary,  but  she  is  so  close-mouthed 
that  I  have  only  been  able  to  learn  the  fact  that  she  saw 


204     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

0 

him  almost  every  day  in  New  York."  This  was  spoken 
at  Mary,  but  she  did  not  reply. 

"  Perhaps  she  will  tell  you  more  now,  for  here  is  a 
note,  Mary,  for  you,  enclosed  in  mine ;  the  color  of  true 
love,  sky-blue,  I  declare ! "  she  said,  as  she  tossed  the 
note  into  Mary's  lap,  after  carefully  examining  the  seal. 

Mary  started  as  if  she  had  been  stung.  Would  Mr. 
Maurice  dare  write  to  her,  after  what  had  passed  ?  Her 
deepening  and  changing  color  attracted  the  attention  of 
both  Virginia  and  Mrs.  Marshall. 

"You  need  not  be  afraid  to  read  it,"  said  Mrs.  Mar- 
shall, observing  the  reluctance  with  which  Mary  took 
it;  "it  is  not  at  all  probable  that  it  is  an  offer  of 
marriage." 

Mary  rose  to  leave  the  room;  but  before  she  closed 
the  door,  she  heard  Mrs.  Marshall  say,  "  How  foolish 
she  behaves  !  One  vould  really  suppose  he  was  a  lover 
of  hers ! " 

"  There  is  more  in  that  girl,"  said  Virginia,  "  than 
you  think  for.  I  always  told  mamma  and  poor  Nettie 
she  was  artful ;  and  now  you  see  it." 

"  I  wish  I  could  make  Mr.  Marshall  think  so,"  replied 
Mrs.  Marshall,  with  a,  sigh. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  205 

"  I  see  lie  thinks  Miss  Mary  a  piece  of  sinless  per- 
fection," said  Virginia,  "and  I  could  never  understand 
how  a  person  of  so  much  discrimination  as  our  good 
Hector  could  be  so  deceived.  But  there 's  no  end  to 
the  influence  of  artful  people  !  Straightforward  indi- 
viduals must  stand  one  side." 

Thus  Virginia  continued  to  add  fuel  to  the  flame  that 
already  consumed  the  heart  of  Mrs.  Marshall.  She 
knew  and  felt  that,  since  Mary  and  Grace  had  been 
members  of  her  family,  there  had  been  a  change  in 
her  husband's  manners  toward  herself.  She  did  not 
realize  that  this  change  arose  from  her  constant  regard- 
lessness  of  the  feelings  of  the  orphan  children,  and  his 
perhaps  too  keen  sense  of  their  sufferings  when  wounded. 
Mr.  Marshall's  fault  consisted  in  his  not  being  able  al- 
ways to  endure,  without  a  frown  or  a  murmur,  his  wife's 
littlenesses.  It  is  very  hard  for  a  soul  filled  with  high, 
generous,  and  noble  impulses,  to  regard  with  feelings  of 
tenderness  and  compassion  the  little,  every-day  meanness 
of  a  small  soul,  especially  if  that  soul  stand  in  the  near 
relation  of  a  bosom  companion. 

Mary  went  to  the  study  :  it  looked  cold  and  cheerless  ; 
the  soul  that  gave  it  life  was  not  there.  She  seated  her- 
18 


206  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 

« 

self  by  the  window,  and  looked  out  into  the  churchyard. 
The  leafless  shrubs  about  her  mother's  resting-place  were 
visible,  and,  beyond,  the  neM'ly-made  grave  of  dear  Jea- 
nette.  She  thought  of  her  own  lone  situation,  and  that 
she  was  as  far  from  providing  for  herself  and  Grace  as 
she  was  the  last  winter,  and  quite  as  dependent.  Other 
girls  earned  their  living  ;  why  should  not  she  ?  Almost 
any  manual  labor  seemed  better  than  the  life  she  led, 
taking  the  bread  from  the  mouths  of  Mr.  Marshall's  own 
children  :  she  wondered  that  she  could  have  sat  down  so 
quietly  under  it.  These  thoughts  came  and  went,  until 
she  had  wrought  herself  into  feelings  of  impatience,  and 
determination  that  it  should  be  so  no  longer;  she  could 
hardly  wait  for  Mr.  Marshall's  return  to  tell  him  her 
determination.  But  what  should  she  do?  Were  all 
avenues  for  gaining  a  livelihood  closed  to  her?  She 
would  go,  she  thought,  into  some  large  town,  and  follow 
her  trade ;  then  came  the  bitter  remembrance  of  Mr. 
Maurice  and  his  arts,  and  she  trembled,  as  she  looked 
again  at  the  outside  of  the  note  she  held  in  her  hand. 
O,  if  he  had  been  what  he  professed  to  be,  a  brother, 
how  much  he  might  have  done  for  her  !  Then  came  the 
memory  of  dear  Jeanette,  and  her  kind,  sympathizing 


OR    MY    DUTY.  207 

heart,  now  lying  cold  and  still ;  and  Mary,  with  her  sub- 
dued and  Christian  spirit,  was  tempted  to  think  it  strange 
that  one  so  loved  should  be  taken,  and  she,  almost  friend- 
less, and,  it  seemed  to  her,  so  useless,  should  be  left.  If 
Mr.  Marshall  should  be  taken,  where  in  this  Avide  world 
could  she  go  for  counsel,  —  where  would  be  her  home  ? 
Thoughts,  discontented  thoughts,  came  rushing  in.  She 
felt  that  she  was  in  Mrs.  Marshall's  way,  when  she  re- 
membered her  cold  glances  and  unfeeling  speeches,  and 
she  longed  for  a  change.  Her  hand  rested  on  a  little 
table  near  her,  and  on  that  table  was  an  open  book, 
the  page  turned  down.  Her  father  had  evidently 
been  reading  it.  Mary  involuntarily  raised  it,  and 
read :  — 

"  Give  me  not  what  I  ask,  but  what  is  good. 
Merciful  Saviour,  unto  thee  I  look : 
O,  teach  me  these  repining  thoughts  to  brook ! 
I  know  I  were  not  happier,  though  endued 
With  all  on  which  my  unbridled  longings  brood; 
For  joy  to  me  hath  ever  been  a  gale, 
Which,  like  some  demon  filling  the  glad  sail, 
Wantoned  awhile  on  summer  seas,  and  wooed 
To  tempt  o'er  hidden  shoals.     Make  me  thine  own, 
And  take  me :  of  myself  I  am  afraid. 


208    THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

0,  take  me  from  myself!     O  take  away 
AVhate'er  of  self  is  in  me,  and  I  pray 
Give  me  on  what  my  spirit  may  be  stayed! 
And  that  I  kno\v  full  well  is  but  thyself  alone." 

How  quickly  changed  was  the  whole  current  of  Mary's 
feelings  !  These  lines  seemed  to  her  like  the  kind  voice 
of  her  father  reproving  her  for  her  repining  thoughts. 

The  leadings  of  Providence  during  the  past  year,  in 
giving  her  such  a  friend  and  protector  as  Mr.  Marshall, 
in  her  time  of  greatest  need,  and,  above  all,  God's  love 
in  giving  her  a  place  in  his  church  and  at  his  altar,  came 
rushing  to  her  memory,  and  deep  penitence  for  her  mo- 
mentary rebellion  and  discontent  succeeded. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  209 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

" '  Life  is  a  mingled  gain,'  —  the  good  is  theirs 
Who  seek  thz  good,  and  leave  the  ill  behind. 
The  evil,  with  its  troubles  and  its  cares, 
Darkens  the  gloomy  heart,  that  seeks  the  load  it  bears." 

EEV.  J.  H.  CLINCH. 

MR.  MARSHALL  returned  from  his  exchange 
with  good  news  for  Mary.  He  had  seen  and 
conversed  with  the  famous  singer,  Professor  Henshaw, 
and  had  made  arrangements  to  see  him  in  Moreland  dur- 
ing the  month.  He  had  heard  of  Mary  in  some  of  his 
travelling  tours  through  that  region,  and  nothing  but  a 
press  of  business  had  at  the  time  prevented  his  "  looking 
her  up,"  as  he  expressed  it.  Mary  said  to  herself,  "  My 
trust  in  Providence  shall  never  again  falter."  She  was 
so  delighted,  she  had  forgotten  her  note  from  Mr. 
Maurice,  which  she  had  left  on  the  study  table.  Mr. 
Marshall  was  looking  at  it  as  she  came  in.  "  Here  is 
a  note  for  you,  Mary?"  he  said  inquiringly. 
18* 


210     THE  RECTORY  OF  MOKELAND: 

•* 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  left  it  there,"  she  replied,  speaking  very 
simply,  but  blushing  deeply.  "  I  would  rather  not  read 
it ;  it  is  from  Mr.  Maurice,  and  came  enclosed  in  a  letter 
to  Virginia." 

Mr.  Marshall  looked  intently  at  Mary,  to  be  sure  he 
heard  aright;  then,  taking  an  envelope,  without  saying 
a  word,  he  enclosed  the  note,  sealed  the  envelope,  di- 
rected it  to  "  Anthony  Maurice,  Esq.,  New  York,"  and 
put  it  among  other  letters  he  had  prepared  that  morn- 
ing for  the  mail. 

Mrs.  Marshall  was  quite  indignant  that  Mary  should 
not  inform  her  of  the  contents  of  the  note  from  Mr. 
Maurice,  or  say  something  about  it.  She  had  no  way 
of  venting  her  indignation  but  by  a  more  studied  coolness 
of  manner,  and  an  effort  to  say  "  cutting  things."  She 
once  seriously  thought  of  asking  her  husband,  if  he  was 
aware  of  the  fact  that  Mary  was  in  correspondence 
with  Anthony  ;  but  she  had  a  secret  feeling  that  he 
knew  more  about  the  matter  than  she  did,  and  was 
obliged  to  content  herself  with  telling  Virginia  of  Mary's 
delinquencies.  But  Mary's  heart  was  light ;  a  new  hope 
had  sprung  up  in  her  breast,  and  she  resolved  to  exert 
every  energy  for  the  attainment  of  the  end  she  had  in 


OR    MY    DUTY.  211 

view.     She  had  not  waited  in  vain ;  the  path  of  honor- 
able exertion  was  opening  before  her. 

Professor  Henshaw,  according  to  promise,  came  to 
Moreland.  He  was  a  man  hale  and  hearty,  kind  and 
pleasant  in  his  manners.  His  reputation  for  integrity 
and  uprightness  stood  fair  before  a  critical  world.  His 
large  benevolence  led  him  sometimes  to  perform  deeds 
of  kindness  that  he  could  ill  afford.  Being  perfectly 
enthusiastic  in  his  profession,  he  would  make  great  per- 
sonal sacrifices  to  secure  to  the  science  of  music  a  prom- 
ising pupil.  He  professed  himself  more  than  pleased 
with  Mary's  voice.  "  It  has  volume  and  sweetness,"  he 
said,  "  and  only  wants  scientific  culture  to  make  it  per- 
fect." Mary's  earnest  delight  and  childlike  simplicity 
of  manners  charmed  him,  and  it  was  an  easy  matter  to 
arrange  the  terms  on  which  he  was  to  take  her  as  a 
pupil.  Mr.  Marshall  candidly  told  him  her  story,  so 
far  as  was  necessary  ;  and  the  generosity  of  the  sing- 
er's heart  overflowed  as  he  said  enthusiastically,  "  Never 
mind,  I  '11  teach  the  child.  She  will  pay  her  board  fast 
enough,  after  she  begins  to  earn  something  for  herself. 
She  shall  come  into  my  family  ;  Betsey  is  lonesome 
sometimes,  and  will  be  glad  of  her  company ;  she  's  just 
the  girl  to  suit  my  wife!" 


212     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

"How  long  do  you  think  Mary  must  practise  before 
she  would  be  prepared  to  teach  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Mar- 
shall. 

"  She  might  teach  a  little  in  six  or  eight  months ;  but 
I  would  rather  keep  her  a  year,  before  sending  her  out 
as  one  of  my  teachers  ;  then  I  should  be  sure  she 
would  n't  come  back  on  my  hands."  This  lie  said  look- 
ing at  Mary's  timid  face,  and  laughing  heartily.  "  If 
she  behaves  well,"  he  added,  trying  to  look  grave,  "  I 
shall,  at  the  end  of  the  year,  find  her  a  good  situation 
in  a  seminary,  where  she  may  expect  a  salary  of  two 
hundred  the  first  year,  and  at  the  same  time  be  im- 
proving herself,  and  preparing  for  a  higher  salary." 

"And  can  you  always  find  such  places  for  your  pu- 
pils?" said  Mr.  Marshall. 

"I  have  applications  daily,  that  I  find  it  impossible 
to  supply,"  said  the  Professor.  "  A  competent  music- 
teacher,  of  good  moral  character,  need  not  be  out  of  a 
situation  twenty-four  hours." 

"  Mary,  my  daughter,  what  do  you  say  to  all  this  ? " 
said  Mr.  Marshall. 

"  I  am  so  thankful ! "  she  whispered,  while  the  tears 
gathered  thick,  and  fell  fast. 


OK    MY    DUTY.  213 

She  wished  she  could  go  the  next  week  ;  but  after- 
ward was  glad  the  time  appointed  for  her  to  leave 
Moreland  was  not  till  May ;  for  she  should  once  more 
spend  the  precious  season  of  Lent  under  the  guidance, 
and  beneath  the  roof,  of  her  beloved  spiritual  father. 
***** 

Two    years  passed    away,    before    Mary   again   saw 
Moreland,  or  any  of  its  inhabitants. 


214     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND : 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

"  There  arc  times  when  the  storm-gust  may  rattle  around, 

There  are  spots  where  the  poison-shrub  grows ; 
Yet  are  there  not  hours  when  naught  else  can  be  found 
But  the  south  wind,  the  sunshine,  and  rose?  " 

ELIZA  COOK. 

"  She  was  a  sacrifice 

To  that  sad  kingcraft,  which  in  marriage  vows, 
Linking  two  hearts  unknowing  each  of  each, 
Perverts  the  ordinance  of  God,  and  makes 
The  holiest  tie  a  mockery,  and  a  curse." 

SOUTIIKY. 

THE  FIRST  year  in  Professor  Henshaw's  family 
Mary  spent  in  acquiring  a  thorough  knowledge  of 
music :  her  application  and  proficiency  were  great,  so 
great  as  to  surprise  even  the  Professor  himself,  who 
pronounced  her  the  most  thorough  female  student  he 
ever  had.  Her  whole  time,  with  the  exception  of  that 
part  of  it  devoted  to  strictly  religious  duties,  was  given  to 
the  science,  in  which  she  had  resolved  to  be  a  proficient. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  215 

Mr.  Henshaw's  family  consisted  only  of  himself  and  wife, 
and  Mary  had  nothing  in  her  home  to  call  off  her  at- 
tention from  the  one  purpose  for  which  she  was  there. 
Mrs.  ITenshaw  was  a  quiet  invalid,  who  walked  the  daily 
round  of  her  domestic  duties  with  scarcely  a  wish  or 
thought  for  the  world  without.  She  came  to  love  Mary 
for  the  kind  consideration  she  always  manifested  for  her, 
and  for  the  contrast,  as  Mrs.  Ilenshaw  often  said  to 
her  husband,  between  Mary  and  a  bold,  forward  singing 
Miss  the  Professor  had  once  picked  up  in  his  musical 
rambles.  This  Miss  proved  very  insolent  to  Mrs.  Ilen- 
shaw, and  rewarded  her  benefactor  by  a  clandestine  mar- 
riage with  an  omnibus-driver,  with  whom  she  had  made 
acquaintance  in  her  daily  rides  to  a  juvenile  musical  class 
in  a  neighboring  town. 

Mary's  lady-like  and  dignified  manners,  which  had 
now  become  habitual,  repelled  everything  like  familiarity 
in  the  numerous  crowd  of  aspiring  or  professed  musicians 
that  followed  in  the  wake  of  Professor  Henshaw.  Mr. 
Marshall  was  well  rewarded  for  the  manly  confidence  he 
had  reposed  in  the  Professor,  when  he  told  him  Mary's 
story.  She  was  never  left  to  go  to  the  numerous  assem- 
blies and  concerts  which  she  attended  with  any  one  who 


216     THE  EECTORY  OP  MOKELAND: 

happened  to  be  present,  but  always 'took  the  ready  arm 
of  her  teacher.  When  he  was  out  of  town,  she  preferred 
the  society  of  Mrs.  Henshaw  to  any  of  the  numerous  ap- 
plicants for  the  pleasure  of  her  company,  and  in  this  way 
she  was  saved  from  acquaintances  that  would  have  been 
unprofitable.  She  acquired  ease  and  self-possession,  be- 
ing often  called  upon  to  sing  or  play  in  large  companies. 
At  the  end  of  the  first  year,  Professor  Henshaw  procured 
her  a  situation  as  teacher  of  music  in  a  flourishing  female 
seminary  in  the  city  where  he  lived,  at  the  same  time 
telling  her  he  should  consider  her  "  one  of  his  family." 
Thus  she  had  an  opportunity  to  continue  her  education 
in  other  branches,  while  she  gave  instruction  in  music. 
This  was  that  for  which  she  had  so  longed  all  her  life. 
Her  loving  heart  was  full  of  thanksgivings  to  an  over- 
ruling Providence,  and  gratitude  made  every  duty  a 
pleasure.  Her  letters  home  were  filled  with  that  joy- 

ousness 

"  That  outbalances  ages  of  pain." 

Mary's  mind  was  naturally  of  a  studious  cast,  and  she 
had  now  every  opportunity  afforded  by  one  of  the  most 
thorough  schools  in  the  country  for  improving  her  powers 
and  adding  to  her  range  of  thought.  Music  had  been 


OR    MY    DUTY.  217 

with  her  a  passion,  a  ruling  passion ;  but  it  soon  took 
its  proper  place,  when  she  had  time  and  means  to  culti- 
vate her  reasoning  faculties.  As  her  year  at  school  drew 
near  its  termination,  she  longed  to  retain  her  place  as 
teacher  of  music  there  ;  but  it  was  only  a  momentary 
thought,  for  although  Professor  Henshaw  and  his  wife 
both  urged  it,  expressing  their  sorrow  for  her  departure, 
she  felt  that  she  had  no  right  to  be  dependent  any  longer 
on  them.  She  already  owed  a  debt  which  years  could 
not  repay.  He  would  accept  no  remuneration.  He  had 
boarded  her  in  his  family  two  years,  and  given  her  gra- 
tuitous instruction,  until  she  could  now  go  forth  and  make 
something  more  than  a  living.  Her  conscience  would 
not  suffer  her  to  accept  his  kind  offer  for  another  year. 
She  made  up  her  mind  to  return  to  Moreland  for  a  visit, 
before  entering  on  any  new  situation  ;  and  in  the  mean 
time  the  Professor  had  assured  her,  that,  when  he  re- 
ceived notice  of  a  place  worthy  of  her,  he  would  com- 
municate the  fact.  She  was  packing  her  trunk  for  her 
home,  her  Moreland  home,  when  the  cheerful  voice  of 
her  teacher  called  her  to  the  parlor. 

"  Here,  Mary,  I  have  just  taken  this  letter  from  the 
office.     Here  is  a  situation  that  I  think  perhaps  may  be 
19 


218     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND : 

| 

good  enough  for  you  " ;  and  his  little  black  eyes  twinkled 
with  pleasure,  as  he  handed  her  the  letter.  "  Show  this 
to  Mr.  Marshall,"  he  added,  "  he  will  know  these  people ; 
some  of  the  gentlemen  are  among  the  most  prominent 
men  in  the  country.  The  only  objection  I  can  see,  will 
be  that  it  carries  you  so  far  both  from  Moreland  and 
from  this  city. 

"  May  I  read  it  ?  "  said  Mary,  laughingly. 

"  To  be  sure,  you  little  gypsy ;  who  should  read  it  if 
you  may  not  ?  I  'm  sure  it  concerns  you  more  than  any 
one  else." 

"  O  no,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Mary,  "  I  would  not  go  to 
the  best  place  in  the  world,  if  you  and  my  father  did  not 
approve  of  it ;  and  I  am  only  sorry  it  takes  me  from 
here,  if  I  must  leave  Moreland.  I  can  never  make  you 
and  Mrs.  Henshaw  any  returns  for  all  your  kindness  to  a 
poor  orphan  girl." 

Tears  glistened  in  her  eyes  as  she  spoke.  Professor 
Henshaw,  like  most  music.il  characters,  was  very  sensi- 
tive, and  he  was  under  the  necessity  of  turning  away  to 
hide  the  drops  that  moistened  his  own  eyes. 

The  same  day  Maiy  received  a  letter  from  Josephine, 
announcing  the  intended  marriage  of  Anthony  Maurice 


OR    MY    DUTY.  219 

and  Virginia  Lee.  Mr.  Maurice  had  carried  out  his 
previous  resolution,  and  purchased  a  country  seat  in 
Moreland,  which  had  become,  as  he  had  prophesied, 
by  reason  of  the  junction  of  two  railroads,  the  largest 
town  in  the  county.  Further  to  prosecute  his  plans,  he 
had  engaged  himself  to  Virginia  Lee.  He  admired  her 
beauty,  and  having  reduced  his  income  by  extrava- 
gance and  dissipation,  Squire  Lee's  broad  acres  had  as 
tempting  a  look  as  his  beautiful  daughter.  Virginia, 
attracted  by  the  immense  California  fortune  still  sup- 
posed to  be  at  the  disposal  of  Mr.  Maurice,  and  some- 
what by  admiration  for  the  genius  and  talents  of  the 
man,  but,  more  than  all,  by  an  earnest  desire  for  an 
establishment  of  her  own,  had  consented  to  be  his  Avife. 
Mrs.  Lee  was  pleased.  "  Mr.  Maurice,"  she  said,  "  was 
not  so  much  of  a  gentleman  as  Arthur  Grey,  but  he  had 
money,  and  Squire  Lee  had  said  he  would  probably  be 
the  next  candidate  for  Congress ;  for  his  party  was  get- 
ting into  the  ascendant." 

Mr.  Maurice,  being  for  the  present  wearied  with  pleas- 
ure,  had  taken  politics  for  his  ruling  passion.  Squire 
Lee  knew  his  proposed  son-in-law  had  led  a  wandering 
life,  and  Arthur  kid  once  told  him  he  was  very  unprin- 
cipled ;  but  he  was  older  now,  and  really  seemed  desirous 


220     THE  KECTOKY  OP  MORELAND: 

of  settling  down  and  being  somebody  ;  besides,  it  would 
be  so  pleasant  to  keep  Virginia  near  home.  Mr.  Maurice 
had  only  one  against  him  at  the  Mansion  House,  and  that 
was  Ralph.  By  his  quick  perceptions  he  had  gathered 
that  Mr.  Maurice  was  not  agreeable  to  his  sister  Mary 
and  his  dear  Jeanette,  and  therefore  he  could  be  no 
friend  of  his.  All  efforts  on  his  part  to  establish  a 
friendship  with  Ralph  were  repulsed  with  so  much  pride, 
that  Mr.  Maurice  forgot  himself,  and  declared,  in  the 
presence  of  Virginia,  that  the  spirit  of  the  sister  reigned 
in  the  brother. 

But  there  Avas  other  news  in  Josephine's  letter,  which, 
although  it  did  not  startle  Mary  so  much  as  the  announce- 
ment of  this  engagement,  interested  her  more,  and  brought 
tears  to  her  eyes  and  comfort  to  her  heart.  Arthur  Grey 
had  become  a  candidate  for  Holy  Orders.  "  Dear  Net- 
tie," said  Mary,  as  she  folded  the  letter,  shutting  out  all 
thoughts  of  Maurice  and  Virginia, . ';  your  prayers  are 
answered,  and  Arthur  now  knows  why  you  were  taken." 

Mary  reached  home  a  few  days  before  the  wedding. 
She  found  Josephine  in  a  little  trouble  because  Virginia 
had  asked  her  to  be  bridesmaid ! 

"  Bridesmaid  at  Anthony  Maurice's  wedding  !  "  said 
Josephine;.  "  How  can  I  ?  " 


OB    MY    DUTY.  221 

"  Will  it  be  very  hard  ?  "  said  Mary,  looking  kindly  at 
her.  "  I  am  sure  I  would  rather  stand  for  ever  as  brides- 
maid, than  once  as  bride" 

"  It  is  not,"  said  Josephine,  "  that  I  feel  sorry  for  this 
union,  but  because  I  feel  so  ashamed  of  myself.  How- 
ever, perhaps  it  will  be  good  discipline,  as  Dr.  Thurston 
says,  when  he  undertakes  anything  particularly  disagree- 
able." 

Mary  looked  at  Josephine  with  much  pleasure.  The 
rose  had  returned  to  her  cheek,  and  the  cheerfulness  to 
her  manner ;  but  that  bitter  tone  of  irony  was  all  gone, 
and  Mary  felt  that  she  spoke  truly,  when  she  said  she 
was  not  sorry  for  this  marriage. 

The  contrast  was  as  great  between  the  preparations 
for  the  wedding  of  Virginia  and  Mr.  Maurice,  and  that 
of  Arthur  and  the  dear  departed  one,  as  the  characters  of 
the  parties  were  opposite.  At  this  last  festivity,  every- 
thing was  on  a  scale  of  magnificence  rarely  seen  in  More- 
land  ;  but  not  a  tear  was  shed.  The  plan  of  a  general 
invitation  to  the  evening  party  was  Mr.  Maurice's  propo- 
sition ;  for,  with  all  his  faults,  he  was  not  aristocratic,  and 
he  loved  popularity.  Therefore,  in  spite  of  Mrs.  Lee's 
endeavors  to  keep  up  "  the  respectability  of  the  family," 

everybody  was  invited,  and  everylxnly  came. 
19* 


222     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

"  0  let  Thy  sacred  will 
All  Thy  delight  in  me  fulfil. 
Let  me  not  think  an  action  my  own  way, 
But  as  Thy  love  shall  sway: 
Resigning  up  the  rudder  to  Thy  skill." 

HKKBKKT. 

THE  BUSTLE  of  the  wedding  being  over,  Mary's 
thoughts  turned  to  the  letter  Professor  Henshaw 
had  given  her  for  Mr.  Marshall.  She  read  it  again  her- 
self, in  the  quietude  of  her  own  room,  and  prayed  for 
guidance.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  was  prepared  to 
fill  this  station  ;  it  was  a  very  desirable  one.  The  letter 
read  as  follows  :  — 

Rocktown,  April,  IS — . 

DEAR  SIR  :  — 

Knowing  your  interest  in  musical  education  in  oar  own 
country,  and  your  opportunities  for  procuring  teachers 
in  that  science,  we  have  concluded  to  make  known  our 


OB    MY    DUTY.  223 

wants  to  you,  and  trust  in  your  good  judgment  to  sup- 
ply those  wants.  Several  gentlemen  of  our  town  have 
young  daughters  whom  they  wish  instructed  in  vocal  and 
instrumental  music.  We  are  not  willing  to  place  our 
children  in  an  ordinary  "  singing-school,"  nor  are  we 
prepared  to  encourage  foreign  masters  in  the  instruction 
of  our  daughters  in  this  branch  of  their  education.  We 
are  willing  to  give  a  generous  salary  to  any  proficient 
female  musical  teacher  whom  you  could  recommend  as 
having  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  rudiments  of  musi- 
cal science,  and  a  suitable  character  in  other  respects.  If 
such  a  person  can  be  obtained,  we  have  a  room  which 
we  will  prepare  for  an  instruction-room,  and  will  promise 
the  lady  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  with  a  suitable 
boarding-place,  for  the  first  six  months,  and,  if  we  are 
mutually  pleased,  an  increase  of  salary  afterward.  She 
will  have  under  her  care  eight  girls,  from  ten  to  fifteen 
years  of  age,  and  she  will  be  expected  to  confine  hen 
musical  instruction  to  the  families  with  whom  her  pu- 
pils are  connected.  We  think  this  a  new  and  original 
plan,  and  we  flatter  ourselves  it  will  succeed.  We  shall 
hope  for  some  communication  from  you  on  this  subject, 
in  the  course  of  a  few  weeks.  We  wish  to  commence 


224     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

«• 

our  family  music-school  during  the  summer,  or  early  in 
the  autumn  at  farthest ;  and  write  thus  seasonably,  know- 
ing that  you  have  numerous  applications,  and  trusting 
this  will  receive  early  attention. 

Very  respectfully  yours, 

WALTEK  STEPHENSON*, 

For 
STEPHEN-  HALL, 

RlCHAKU    1LVKUIN<;TOX, 

NEIIEMIAH  Buu«;i>~. 
PUOFESSOR  "VV.  HENSHAW. 

Some  of  these  names  Mary  had  often  seen  in  the 
newspapers,  and  she  feared  she  could  never  meet  the 
expectations  of  such  people.  "  And  yet,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, "  what  will  he  required  of  me  ?  Only  my  duty." 

She  took  this  letter  to  her  father's  study,  and  watched 
him  as  his  thoughtful,  earnest  eyes  read  and  re-read  the 
epistle.  She  was  forcibly  reminded  of  the  letter  she  had 
given  him  to  read  three  years  before,  in  that  very  spot, 
—  Mrs.  Watkins's  letter.  How  exactly  he  had  studied 
that,  as  he  did  this.  Mary  had  passed,  since  then,  from 
a  fearful,  timid  girl  into  a  self-possessed  woman,  but 


OR    MY    DUTY.  225 

with  the  same  obedient,  truthful  spirit.  Many  visions 
went  through  her  brain,  as  she  waited  patiently  for  Mr. 
Marshall  to  finish  his  study  of  the  epistle.  She  thought 
of  Grace,  growing  up  so  beautiful  and  so  good,  and  she 
hoped  to  be  able,  in  a  year  or  two,  to  put  her  to  the 
best  of  schools ;  and  then  she  prayed  that  the  shadows 
that  had  crossed  her  own  young  life  might  never  fall 
on  the  path  of  Grace. 

"  These  are  great  names,"  said  Mr.  Marshall  at  length, 
looking  up  from  the  letter,  "  as  the  world  goes ;  an  ex- 
cellent situation  I  should  think,  if  some  of  these  gentle- 
men would  only  have  the  kindness  to  take  my  darling 
daughter  into  their  own  families  to  board.  Eocktown  is 
a  large  place,  —  some  eight  or  ten  thousand  inhabitants, 
I  think.  It  is  a  long  way  from  home,  two  hundred 
miles  or  more,  quite  out  of  this  diocese.  Do  you  know, 
Mary,  if  there  is  an  Episcopal  church  in  Rocktown  ? 
I  doubt  whether  there  is,"  he  added,  rising  and  going 
toward  the  library  and  taking  down  a  book  of  reference  ; 
"  I  have  heard  much  of  the  modern  fashionable  infidel- 
ity of  that  region.  No,"  he  said  decidedly,  as  he  turned 
over  the  book  he  had  selected,  "  it  has  no  Episcopal 
church.  The  nearest  church  is  at  Stoney  Brook,  four 


226          THE    RECTORY    OF    MOR^LAND  : 

miles  or  more  from  Rocktown.  This  is  a  great  draw- 
back," he  added,  looking  at  Mary  as  the  shadow  length- 
ened on  her  face. 

"  Then  I  can't  go,"  she  said  sorrowfully. 

"  Well,  we  will  not  be  hasty,  Mary  ;  there  is  time 
enough  to  make  it  a  subject  of  serious  reflection.  I  will 
write  to  these  gentlemen  myself,  and  enclose  it  to  Pro- 
fessor Henshaw.  In  the  mean  time  you  can  be  study- 
ing those  lines  of  Cowper  you  were  admiring  yester- 
day;— 

"  Ah,  be  not  sad  although  thy  lot  be  cast 
Far  from  the  flock,  and  in  a  boundless  •waste, 
No  shepherd's  tent  within  thy  view  appear, 
But  the  Chief  Shepherd  even  there  is  near." 

*  *  *  *  * 

"Well,  I  do  think,"  said  Virginia,  as  she  returned 
from  church  about  two  months  after  her  marriage,  and 
met  her  husband  in  the  drawing-rooms,  where  he  had 
been  lounging,  reading  papers,  and  writing  letters,  dur- 
ing her  absence,  —  "I  do  think,  of  all  the  consummate 
pride  I  have  ever  seen,  Mary  Evans  displays  the  most ! " 

So  saying,  she  threw  herself  on  the  sofa,  and  com- 
menced drawing  off  her  gloves. 


OB    MY    DUTY.  227 

"  What 's  the  matter  now,"  said  her  husband  with  a 
yawn ;  "  you  have  n't  fallen  out  with  that  poor  child,  I 
hope." 

"  Fallen  out  with  her ! "  said  Virginia,  with  a  scorn- 
ful toss  of  her  head.  "  She  was  never  a  protegee  of 
mine  !  It  is  very  seldom  I  compliment  her  with  an 
invitation  to  come  and  see  us ;  but  to-day,  to  please  you, 
I  asked  her  to  be  social,  and  call  and  see  us  often.  And 
what  do  you  think  my  lady  replied  ?  Why  she  said, 
with  the  most  dignified  air  imaginable,  '  Thank  you, 
Mrs.  Maurice,'  making  the  name  very  emphatic,  '  but 
my  time  is  so  occupied,  that  I  have  but  little  to  spare 
for  social  visiting ' ! " 

"And  so,  my  wife,"  said  Mr.  Maurice  with  a  smile, 
and  the  same  look  that  had  often  startled  Mary,  "you 
can't  guess,  with  all  your  penetration,  the  reason  the 
little  witch  puts  on  such  airs." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Maurice  ?  "  said  Virginia,  look- 
ing at  him  with  large  eyes ;  "  you  don't  think  she  wished 
to  be  Mrs.  Maurice  herself,  do  you?" 

"Aha!"  said  Mr.  Maurice,  patting  her  rosy  cheeks, 
"you  are  something  of  a  Yankee,  after  all." 


228     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELANDt 

i 

After  much  deliberation,  and  many  letters  between 
Dr.  Stephenson,  Professor  Henshaw,  and  Rev.  Mr. 
Marshall,  it  was  decided  that  Mary  was  the  teacher 
elect,  by  a  letter  from  Dr.  Stephenson. 

Rocktown,  May,  18—. 
DEAR  SIR:  — 

The  letters  that  have  passed  between  Professor  Hen- 
shaw  and  myself,  together  with  your  letter,  are  now 
before  me.  We  met  last  night  for  the  renewed  consid- 
eration of  the  subject  of  a  music-teacher  for  our  daugh- 
ters ;  and  the  unanimous  voice  of  the  meeting  was  in 
favor  of  engaging  Miss  Evans  for  the  situation.  With 
regard  to  a  boarding-place,  we  were  so  well  assured  of 
the  careful  training  of  your  daughter,  that  we  have  no 
hesitation  in  receiving  her  into  our  families,  to  be  tlnve 
months  with  each  of  us,  should  she  remain  (as  we  trust 
will  be  agreeable  to  all)  through  the  year.  We  shall 
hope  to  welcome  your  daughter  as  early  in  September 
as  she  can  make  it  convenient  to  come.  Her  first  quar- 
ter will  be  spent  in  my  family. 

Truly  and  respectfully  yours, 

W.  STEPHENSON. 

REV.  Mu.  MARSHALL. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  229 

P.  S.  With  regard  to  houses  of  religious  worship, 
there  are  in  Rocktown  two  Unitarian,  one  Universalist, 
Baptist,  Roman  Catholic,  besides  a  meeting  of  Sweden- 
borgians  in  the  Town-Hall.  There  is  a  nourishing  Epis- 
copal Church  little  less  than  four  miles  from  here. 


20 


230     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

"  For  never  yet  the  heart  has  beat, 
Too  mean,  too  lowly,  too  unmeet 
To  do  its  proper  part  aright ; 
Nor  hand  has  been  too  weak  or  small 
To  work  for  Him  who  works  for  all." 

AWEARY  JOURNEY  of  two  hundred  and  fifty 
miles,  oji  a  glowing  September  day,  brought  Mary, 
as  the  shadows  lengthened,  into  the  vicinity  of  Rocktown. 
"  Lower  Rocktown  ! "  called  the  conductor.  Her  heart 
fluttered,  for  the  next  station  would  be  her  stopping- 
place.  The  scenery  and  face  of  the  country  were  totally 
different  from  Moreland.  All  was  flat,  level,  and  sandy, 
as  far  as  eye  could  reach,  and  Mary  thought  her  heart 
would  pine  for  the  hills  and  valleys  of  Moreland.  A 
growth  of  shrub  oaks  started  up  among  the  rocks  that 
surrounded  her,  and  she  breathed  a  sigh  foi'  the  brave 
old  forests  of  home  ;  but  the'  sigh  was  checked  as  it  rose 
in  her  breast,  by  the  reflection  that  she  had  come  here, 


OR    MY    DUTY.  231 

not  to  see  fine  scenery,  or  beautiful  landscapes,  but  "  to 
get  her  living,  and  do  her  duty  in  that  state  of  life  into 
which  it  had  pleased  God  to  call  her."  By  the  time  she 
had  reasoned  herself  into  a  determination  to  be  cheerful 
and  happy  as  possible,  the  cars  stopped,  and  she  was 
handed  to  the  platform  by  the  careful  conductor,  under 
whose  charge  she  had  been  placed.  There  Avas  the 
usual  number  of  dirty  boys  and  lazy  men  about  the 
station-house ;  but  Mary  was  not  the  timid,  trembling 
Miss  she  had  been  in  New  York,  and  although  she  had 
a  feeling  of  sadness,  not  knowing  one  human  face,  she 
was  not  afraid.  Stepping  to  the  ticket-office  to  inquire 
for  a  conveyance  to  Dr.  Stephenson's,  she  met  a  bustling, 
benevolent-looking  man,  who  eyed  her  attentively. 

"  Ah,  here  you  are  !  this  must  be  Miss  Evans,  I  think. 
I  am  glad  to  see  you,  very  glad,"  he  said,  extending  his 
hand  to  her.  "  This  way,  this  way,"  he  added,  drawing 
her  arm  within  his,  and  leading  her  through  the  crowd 
of  idlers  to  the  carriage  that  stood  waiting.  "  Florence 
will  be  delighted  to  see  you  ;  she  begged  me  to  bring  you 
to  our  house  immediately ;  she  is  very  lonely  now,  since 
Edgar  died."  And  his  laughing,  good-natured  face  as- 
sumed a  graver  look. 


232     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

g 

"  You  are  in  trouble,  sir,"  said  Mary,  observing  for  the 
first  time  the  wide  crape  on  his  hat ;  "  the  presence  of  a 
stranger  may  not  be  agreeable  at  this  time  ?  " 

"  0  yes,  yes  !  "  said  the  Doctor,  wiping  his  eyes  ;  "  but 
we  don't  call  you  a  stranger ;  we  have  talked  of  you  so 
much,  that  we  feel  as  if  we  had  known  you  always." 

Mary  thanked  him  for  his  kindness,  and  begun  already 
to  feel  at  home  ;  she  had  dreaded  the  first  interview,  but 
it  was  past,  and  how  pleasantly !  Often  mountains  of 
difficulty  become  level  plains,  when  met  in  the  path  of 
duty.  The  air  of  comfort  that  reigned  in  and  about  the 
residence  of  Dr.  Stephenson  charmed  Mary,  and  she  was 
prepared  to  be  pleased  with  everything.  A  few  kind 
words,  so  easily  spoken,  Avill  often  change  the  whole  hue 
of  life  to  the  sensitive  soul. 

Mary  was  ushered  into  the  parlor  to  meet  "  Mamma  " 
by  Miss  Florence,  who,  having  seen  her  father  from 
the  window,  came  running  and  leaping  down  the  road, 
laughing  with  delight.  She  was  a  bonnie  lass  of  thir- 
teen years,  the  sole  remaining  child  of  her  parents. 
Her  countenance  was  glowing  Avith  life  and  health,  and 
her  sandy  hair  fluttered  in  the  wind  as  she  bounded 
along. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  233 

"  Here,  mamma,  here  is  Miss  Evans.  I  told  Lily  Har- 
rington I  knew  she  would  come  to-night." 

"  Hush,  my  dear,"  said  a  tall  lady,  dressed  in  the 
deepest  mourning,  as  she  came  forward  to  welcome 
Mary ;  "  you  are  too  boisterous,  Florence  ;  be  quiet,  and 
assist  Miss  Evans  to  remove  her  shawl.  My  brother, 
Mr.  Hamilton,  Miss  Evans,"  added  she.  A  tall,  studious- 
looking  young  man  rose  from  the  recess  of  the  bay  win- 
dow, and  bowed  gracefully  to  the  new-comer. 

Mary's  head  rested  that  night  peacefully  and  gratefully 
on  her  pillow.  It  seemed  to  her  that  a  kind  Providence 
had  opened  a  very  pleasant  path  before  her,  —  at  least 
the  entrance  was  strewed  with  floAvers. 

The  society  in  Rocktown  was  of  a  different  character 
from  any  she  had  before  met.  The  families  in  which 
she  taught  were  worshippers  of  intellect.  Their  morality 
was  of  a  high  tone  ;  but  it  was  morality  induced,  not  by 
a  humble  sense  of  their  own  sinfulness  and  dependence 
upon  Divine  grace  for  strength  to  lead  a  holy  life,  but 
brought  about  by  connecting  the  idea  of  vice  with  tem- 
poral degradation,  and  as  beneath  an  intellect  conscious 
of  its  superiority.  Mary  had  been  tried  by  disappoint- 
ments and  crosses  ;  she  was  now  to  be  proved  by  the 
20* 


234     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND  : 

| 

waves  of  prosperity.  A  letter  written  to  her  father  at 
the  close  of  the  first  quarter  in  Rocktown,  may  give  us 
some  information  of  herself  and  those  ahout  her. 

Rocktown,  December,  18 — . 
MY  DEAR  FATHER : — 

It  is  now  near  midnight,  and  I  steal  moments  from 
sleep  to  write  to  you,  lest  to-morrow's  occupations  may 
interfere  with  this  pleasure.  I  wish  you  could  have 
been  here  to-night  to  be  present  at  one  of  those  interest- 
ing conversazione  I  mentioned  in  my  last.  It  troubles  me 
that  afterward,  when  I  try  to  recall  the  thoughts  thrown 
out  at  these  delightful  meetings  that  I  may  tell  you,  I 
can  only  recall  here  and  there  an  idea ;  but  the  whole 
impression  is  beautiful,  like  that  of  music  when  it  is 
perfect,  seemingly  elevating  and  refining,  but  after  all 
somewhat  vague  and  unsatisfying  to  me,  probably  be- 
cause I  am  only  a  learner.  You  would  understand  and 
appreciate  all  these  beauties  of  thought.  I  can  hardly 
tell  you  how  happy  and  contented  I  am.  The  want  of 
the  church,  and  my  own  dear  early  friends,  are  all  the 
wants  I  feel.  My  class  is  very  pleasant,  and  the  girls 
make  rapid  progress  in  their  music.  Dr.  Stephenson 
very  kindly  told  me  to-day,  that  if  it  was  agreeable  to 


OR    MY    DUTY.  235 

me,  he  wished  me  to  make  my  arrangements  to  make 
his  house  my  home  during  my  whole  stay  in  Rocktown, 
instead  of  passing  each  quarter  in  a  new  family,  as  was 
at  first  proposed.  Indeed,  I  am  met  by  kindness  and 
consideration  on  every  side.  Mr.  Hamilton,  Mrs.  Ste- 
phenson's  brother,  of  whom  I  have  spoken  in  my  letters, 
has  proposed  to  teach  me  German,  and  read  French  with 
me,  in  my  leisure  hours.  I  thanked  him,  and  commenced 
last  week.  He  appears  like  a  pure,  noble-minded  person 
of  brilliant  intellectual  attainments.  He  is  reading  law 
with  Squire  Harrington.  I  have  been  to  church  but 
twice  since  I  came  to  Rocktown.  The  clergyman  was 
dull  and  stupid ;  but  I  had  the  precious  service,  which 
is  home-like  everywhere.  I  am  acquainted  with  but  a 
single  member  of  our  church  in  this  large  town,  a  Miss 
Parsons,  who  joined  our  communion  while  attending 
school  abroad.  The  families  in  which  I  teach  are  very- 
exclusive,  and  yet  I  cannot  call  them  aristocratic;  for 
they  all  receive  and  treat  me  like  a  familiar  friend.  I 
look  forward  with  a  little  eagerness  sometimes  into  the 
future,  when  I  hope  to  be  able  to  send  Grace  to  the 

Seminary  at  H ;  and,  my  dear  father,  I  trust  I  shall 

be  able   to   help   you   put  Alice   there   at   school  also. 


236    THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

0 

Many  thanks  again  and  again  for  your  unwavering 
kindness  to  me  ;  without  your  love  and  counsel,  what 
could  I  do? 

I  am  sorry  to  hear  Mrs.  Marshall's  health  is  so  feeble ; 
I  shall  hope  to  hear  from  home  a  little  oftener  after  the 
Christmas  festivities  are  over ;  there  is  no  preparation 
whatever  here  for  the  celebration  of  that  day.  I  shall 
be  homesick  then,  I  know. 

Do  write,  Christmas  day,  to 

Your  ever  affectionate  daughter, 

MARY. 


Oil    MY    DUTY.  237 


CHAPTER    XXXIYr. 

"  The  wail  of  regret,  the  rude  clashing  of  strife, 

The  soul's  harmony  often  may  mar; 
But  I  think  we  must  own,  in  the  discords  of  life, 
'T  is  ourselves  that  oft  Avaken  the  jar." 

ELIZA  COOK. 

"  The  moon  was  watching  on  the  hill, 
The  stream  was  staid,  and  the  maples  still, 
To  hear  a  lover's  suit." 


!"  SAID  Anthony  Maurice,  throwing  his 
hat  and  cloak  on  the  hall  table,  with  an  awful 
oath  ;  u  the  jig  's  up,  and  I  've  lost  my  election  !  " 

"  What  a  dreadful  noise  you  make,  Anthony  !  "  said 
Virginia,  coming  to  the  door  to  learn  the  cause  of  the 
violence. 

"  Noise  ?  well,  why  should  n't  I  make  a  noise  ?  I 
reckon  you  '11  do  your  share,  madam,  when  I  tell  you 
you  can't  go  to  New  York  this  winter." 

"  Not  go  to  New  York  !  "  replied  Virginia,  reddening 
to  the  temples  ;  "  and  why  not,  pray  ?  " 


238     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

« 

"  For  the  best  of  reasons,  —  there  's  no  money,"  he 
said,  striking  his  pocket ;  "  and  I  'vc  lost  the  election, 
and  spent  over  two  thousand  dollars  into  the  bargain." 

"  Because  you  've  acted  like  a  fool  yourself,"  she  re- 
plied angrily,  "  is  that  any  reason  why  I  should  be 
cheated  out  of  my  visit  ?  " 

The  husband  turned  pale  as  ashes,  his  lip  quivered 
with  rage  ;  he  brought  his  foot  firmly  down  upon  the 
carpet,  and,  raising  his  hand,  said,  with  another  terrify- 
ing oath,  "Virginia,  I  swear  you  shall  not  go." 

"And  I  say  you  shall  not  go  without  me!"  and  the 
angry  wife  swept  haughtily  out  of  the  room. 

u  Curse  this  matrimony ! "  said  Mr.  Maurice,  solilo- 
quizing ;  "  what  a  stupid  ass  I  was  to  be  caught  with 
such  a  bait !  I  once  imagined  a  sweet  cottage  in 
Moreland,  but  it  was  not  you"  he  said,  pointing  to  the 
door  as  if  Virginia  were  still  there,  — "  it  was  not  you 
who  was  to  occupy  it  with  me.  O  Mary ! "  he  sighed, 
"  your  influence  over  me  was  good,  and  you  might  have 
led  me  to  better  things,  but  you  would  not.  A  curse 
on  all  the  sex,  —  allurers,  betrayers,  deceivers!  I'll 
leave  this  horrid  place  to-night.  Who  would  have 
thought  I  could  have  lived  eight  months  in  such  stag- 


OR    MY    DUTY.  239 

nant  water !  I  '11  go  and  see  poor  Sister  Nellie  first, 
for  they  say  she  is  really  very  sick.  I  thought  she 
was  only  spleeny." 

He  reached  the  Rectory  as  Mr.  Marshall,  tenderly 
lifting  his  wife  from  the  carnage,  carried  her  into  the 
house,  and  gently  laid  her  on  a  couch  Josephine  had 
prepared. 

"Why,  Sister  Nellie,  you  are  really  sick,"  said  Mr. 
Maurice,  approaching  the  invalid,  and  taking  no  notice 
of  Josephine,  who  was  sitting  by  her  side. 

"  Yes,  Anthony,"  said  the  sister,  in  a  low,  complaining 
tone,  "  and  you  never  come  to  see  me :  when  I  'm  gone, 
you  '11  think  of  your  neglect." 

"Well,  Sis,"  he  said,  stroking  his  bearded  chin,  and 
looking  into  Josephine's  face  with  a  laugh,  "we  '11  wait 
and  see,  as  Dr.  Arnold  says.  Ah,  Josey,"  he  added, 
observing  her  blush,  "  how  is  our  friend,  Dr.  Thurston, 
in  these  days?" 

Josephine  did  not  deign  a  reply,  but  the  deepening 
color  of  her  cheeks  betrayed  her  feelings.  if  Sulky  ! 
hem !  well,  well,  here  comes  the  parson,  and  I  '11  go  and 
inquire  for  my  pet  sister." 

Mr.  Marshall  made  no  conversation  with  Mr.  Maurice 


240    THE  BECTORY  OF  MOEELAND: 

when  they  met.  Their  paths  seldom  crossed  each  other ; 
and  now  the  cold  sternness  of  his  brother's  manner  awed 
Mr.  Maurice  for  a  moment  :  but  at  length  he  boldly 
asked  if  they  had  heard  from  Mary  lately. 

Mr.  Marshall  gave  him  a  withering  look,  and  coldly 
replied,  "We  hear  every  fortnight"  ;  then,  turning  to 
his  wife,  he  said,  in  a  tone  tender  by  contrast,  "  Ellen, 
do  you  feel  fatigued  by  your  ride?" 

"O  yes!"  she  said  querulously,  "I  am  so  weary  I 
can't  think  of  riding  again  ;  the  air  is  too  keen  for  me, 
and  the  roads  are  rough.  O,  there  he  is,"  she  added, 
raising  her  head  as  Dr.  Thurston  entered  the  room. 
"  Why  did  n't  you  come  before  ?  I  have  been  waiting 
a  long  time  for  you." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  the  physician,  as  he  warmly  shook  the 
offered  palm  of  Mr.  Marshall,  bowed  coldly  to  Mr.  Mau- 
rice, and  pressed  Josephine's  hand  in  both  of  his ;  "  wait- 
ing for  me,  are  you  ? "  he  added  in  a  cheerful  tone. 
"  You  are  better  for  your  ride,  and  good  nursing," 
looking  tenderly  at  Josephine ;  "  you  '11  be  about  again 
shortly." 

"  O  no,  Doctor,  I  shall  never  be  about  again,  I  am 
so  anxious  for  the  children.  Care  puts  me  back  more 


OR    MY    DUTY.  241 

than  anything,  and  there  is  nobody  to  look  after  any- 
thing." 

A  momentary  shadow  of  distress  passed  across  the 
face  of  Mr.  Marshall  ;  but  it  was  succeeded  by  a  look 
of  solicitude,  as  he  turned  to  his  wife  and  left  the  room, 
saying,  "  Excuse  me  now,  Ellen ;  I  must  finish  my  ser- 
mon for  to-morrow." 

"  Josephine,"  said  Dr.  Thurston,  as  she  waited  upon 
him  to  the  door  to  take  his  directions  for  the  invalid, 
"it  will  never  do  for  you  to  confine  yourself  so  much 
to  the  house  ;  you  grow  pale  every  day.  I  shall  call  for 
you  to  ride  this  evening ;  now  make  your  arrangements 
to  go  with  me.  Will  you  ?  " 

"If  I  can"  said  Josephine,  hastily  withdrawing  her 
hand  from  his  grasp. 

Josephine  had  learned  something  of  the  worth  of  her 
brother,  and  had  come  to  confide  in  him  ;  not  so  entirely, 
perhaps,  as  Mary,  for  her  nature  was  not  so  confiding ; 
but  to  seek  his  counsel  and  advice,  where  once  her 
haughty  spirit  would  have  walked  alone.  Accordingly, 
when  she  returned  from  her  moonlight  ride  with  Dr. 
Thurston,  seeing  a  light  in  the  study,  and  fearing  to 
delay  in  carrying  out  her  resolution,  lest  pride  should 
21 


242          THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 

get  the  better  of  her  desire  to  know  her  duty,  she 
tapped  lightly  at  the  door.  "  May  I  come  in,  brother," 
she  said. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Mr.  Marshall,  rising  and  putting 
away  his  sermon,  which  he  was  just  finishing. 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  interrupting  you,  brother?" 

"No,  Josephine,  I  am  glad  to  pause  awhile  in  my 
deep  thinking,  and  give  myself  to  your  pleasant  soci- 
ety." He  drew  his  large  study-chair  toward  the  fire, 
and  placed  the  little  rocking-chair  beside  it.  "  Any- 
thing new,  sister?"  he  said  by  way  of  conversation, 
perceiving  a  look  of  perplexity  on  her  face. 

"Yes,  brother,"  she  replied,  without  raising  her  eyes. 
"I  have  been  to  ride  with  Dr.  Thurston,  and  —  and  — " 

"  He  has  asked  you  to  be  his  wife ;  I  shall  be  most 
happy  to  call  Dr.  Thurston  brother,  if  it  is  agreeable 
to  you." 

Josephine  looked  up  with  an  ai-ch  smile,  which  was 
quickly  followed  by  a  shadow.  "  Do  you  think  I  should 
tell  him  of  that  foolish  affair  between  Mr.  Maurice  and 
myself?"  she  said,  growing  more  grave,  while  a  tear 
glistened  in  her  eye. 

Mr.  Marshall  looked  surprised;   he   hesitated  a   mo- 


OB    MY    DUTV.  243 

ment,  and  then  said  very  gently,  "No,  my  dear  sister; 
I  cannot  see  that  you  are  called  upon  to  speak  of  that 
to  Dr.  Thurston.  It  was  a  folly,  repented  of  almost  as 
soon  as  committed." 

Josephine  replied  not,  but  the  tears  fell  as  she  rested 
her  head  on  her  hand. 

"  Is  your  heart  any  less  free  to  give  wholly  to  Dr. 
Thurston,  Josey,  for  this  foolish  fancy  ? " 

"  Xo,  brother,  no ;  surely  not ;  but  I  have  come  to 
love  truthfulness  and  sincerity  so  much  more  than  any- 
thing else,  and  to  have  such  a  dread  of  anything  like 
double-dealing,  that  it  seems  not  quite  true  to  Edmund 
Thurston  to  withhold  from  him  the  fact  —  bitter  as  the 
thought  is  to  me,  and  much  as  I  despise  myself  for  it 
—  that  there  was  a  time  when  I  would  willingly  have 
been  the  slave  of  Anthony  Maurice." 

"My  dear  sister,"  said  Mr.  Marshall  affectionately, 
"I  think  you  are  taking  a  morbid  view  of  this  matter: 
such  a  confession  would  certainly  do  him  no  good,  and 
would  probably  excite  in  him  a  deeper  feeling  of  hatred 
toward  Maurice  than  he  already  has.  Dr.  Thurston  is 
a  man  of  quick,  ardent  temperament,  and  the  knowledge 
of  Maurice's  villany  toward  you  might  lead  to  conse- 


244    THE  RECTORY  OP  MORELAND  : 

quences  you  would  deprecate.  Reverse  the  case.  Sup- 
pose the  Doctor  himself  had  once  met  a  coquette,  for 
whom  he  had  felt  a  strong  youthful  fancy,  and  she  had 
jilted  him  ;  do  you  think  it  would  be  his  duty  to  ac- 
quaint you  with  the  encounter,  or  that  he  would  be  any 
less  true  to  you  if  he  did  not  ?  You  know,  Josephine, 
I  would  not  advise  you  to  act  otherwise  than  conscien- 
tiously ;  but  this  is  a  point  upon  which  I  can  judge 
better  for  you  than  you  can  yourself.  Settle  the  matter 
now,  sister,  and  do  not  let  it  come  up  again  to  trouble 
you." 

Josephine  mused  awhile  •  at  length,  looking  up  smiling 
through  her  tears,  she  said,  "I  have  given  Dr.  Thurs- 
ton  permission  to  call  upon  you  for  your  consent." 

'•  AVhich  I  shall  be  happy  to  grant,  only  that  it  will 
leave  me  minus  —  not  a  sister,  for  you  will  be  mine  still, 
but  —  a  housekeeper." 

"  I  am  not  gone  yet,"  said  Josephine,  as  she  returned 
her  brother's  good-night  kiss. 

The  next  morning,  two  letters  were  laid  on  the  study- 
table  while  the  Rector  was  out.  One  was  Mary's  letter 
from  Rocktown,  which  we  have  already  given  ;  the  other 
was  from  Arthur  Grey,  a  long,  affectionate,  and  grate- 


OB    MY    DUTY.  245 

ful  epistle,  informing  Mr.  Marshall  of  the  death  of  his 
father,  and  the  division  of  his  estate ;  and  enclosing  a 
check  for  five  hundred  dollars,  —  the  first  offering  of  his 
own  property,  —  to  be  devoted,  he  said,  "to  the  care 
and  education  of  the  orphan  children  you  so  kindly  shel- 
tered under  your  roof,  when  they  were  without  a  home. 
They  were  favorites  of  mine  and  of  my  sainted  Jea- 
nette  ;  and  I  feel  that  I  cannot  do  better  with  the  means 
God  has  given  me,  than  to  assist  you  in  their  training 
and  maintenance." 

Mr.  Marshall  was  overwhelmed  with  the  burden  of 
gratitude  that  filled  his  soul,  —  gratitude  to  the  Giver  of 
all ;  and  there  was  not  one  repining  thought  for  his  own 
children  mingled  with  that  sacrifice  of  thanksgiving.  It 
was  only  the  day  before  that  Grace  had  innocently  asked 
him  if  she  and  Alice  would  ever  go  away  to  school, 
and  now  here  were  the  means  to  send  her,  and  that,  too, 
without  drawing  on  Mary's  earnings!  He  read  again 
his  absent  daughter's  letter.  "Dear  girl,"  he  said,  so- 
liloquizing as  he  folded  the  letter,  "  these  are  new  temp- 
tations to  you.  I  trust  prosperity  may  not  do  what  trial 
has  never  done,  cause  you  to  grow  weary  of  duty.  I 
am  a  little  afraid  of  this  transcendental  atmosphere  for 

one  ?o  full  of  appreciation  of  the  beautiful." 
21* 


246    THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

"  As  men,  for  fear  the  stars  should  sleep 
And  trip  at  night,  have  spheres  supplied,  — 

Just  so  the  other  heaven  they  also  serve, 
Divinity's  transcendent  sky; 
Which  with  the  edge  of  wit  they  cut  and  curve : 
Reason  triumphs  and  Faith  lies  by." 

HKHBERT. 

«  "T    SUPPOSE  MARY  would  be  much  gratified  to 

1  go  to  church  to-morrow  at  Stoney  Brook,"  said 
Dr.  Stephenson. 

Mrs.  Stephenson,  and  her  brother,  Mr.  Hamilton,  were 
reading  together  a  new  poem  that  had  appeared  in  The 
Halo,  a  magazine  published  in  Rocktown. 

"I  would  drive  her  over,"  added  the  Doctor,  "but  I 
have  a  patient  I  cannot  leave  many  hours." 

"  Yes,"  said  his  wife,  looking  up  from  the  pamphlet, 
"  she  should  go  certainly.  She  is  so  self-forgetful,  and 
desirous  to  make  others  happy,  that  we  ought  really  to 


OR    MY    DUTY.  247 

make  some  exertion  to  get  her  to  church  on  Christmas 
day  at  least.  She  and  Florence  have  spent  all  their 
leisure  time  this  week  in  trimming  the  school-room  with 
shrub-pines  from  Brush  Hill." 

"  I  will  carry  her  to  Stoney  Brook,"  said  Mr.  Ham- 
ilton, "  if  you  wish  it,  sister." 

"  Thank  you,  brother.  The  love  she  bears  her  Church 
is  the  strangest  trait  in  her  character.  It  seems  won- 
derful that  one  so  earnest  and  truthful,  so  ingenuous  and 
thoughtful,  should  dwell  so  much  in  the  musty  forms  and 
ordinances  of  a  religion  which  seems  better  adapted  to 
the  Dark  Ages  than  to  the  glorious  liberty  of  the  nine- 
teenth century." 

"  Patience,  patience,  sister,"  said  Hartley  Hamilton 
smiling ;  "  with  her  early  training,  you  could  hardly  hope 
that  she  would  at  once  leave  superannuated  creeds  and 
churches  ;  but  her  pure  and  noble  mind  will  yet  rise  and 
soar  in  the  air  of  freedom.  You  are  too  hasty,"  he 
added ;  "  she  will  yet  learn  to  look  from  '  the  shows  of 
things  into  things  themselves.'" 

Mary  was  delighted  with  the  thoughtfulness  of  her 
friends,  in  making  arrangements  for  her  to  attend  church 
on  Christmas  day ;  and  she  begged  for  Florence's  com- 


248     THE  KECTOHY  OF  MORELAND: 

pany.  This  arrangement  was  pleasant  to  Mr.  Hamil- 
ton ;  for  children,  he  often  said,  were  the  truest  part 
of  mankind,  and  Florence  the  truest  of  children. 

The  young  man  had  an  earnest  mind,  and  was  a 
truth-seeker ;  but  from  the  wells  of  true  wisdom  he 
would  not  draw ;  they  were  old,  stagnant  waters :  so  he 
hewed  out  to  himself  broken  cisterns  from  his  own  per- 
verted wisdom  and  understanding.  His  tastes  were  more 
poetical  than  matter  of  fact,  and  yet  he  had  all  the 
energy  necessary  for  the  accomplishment  of  great  ends. 
To  him  the  end  to  be  desired  in  order  to  renovate 
the  human  race,  was  the  liberating  the  mind  from  the 
thraldom  of  creeds,  ordinances,  and  forms.  He  looked 
upon  Mary  with  admiration,  for  her  simplicity  and  free- 
dom from  artificial  manners.  He  could  not  understand 
how  one  trained  as  she  had  been,  under  a  system  of 
what  he  called  "formalism,"  and  apparently  so  dev< )!<•<! 
to  her  Church,  could  yet  retain  that  freshness  and  (ruth- 
fulness,  and  earnest  desire  for  wisdom,  which  she  man- 
ifested. 

Mary  regarded  him  as  a  being  of  superior  order; 
she  loved  to  listen  to  the  beautiful  ideal  of  a  perfect  life 
that  flowed  from  his  lips.  Dr.  Stephenson's  family  were 


OR    MY    DUTY.  249 

all  too  well-bred  to  attack  Mary's  faith  in  any  way, 
neither  did  they  urge  her  attending  religious  services 
with  them.  Hamilton  attended  no  place  of  worship : 
his  own  meditations  with  the  works  of  nature  were  ser- 
mons and  prayers  sufficient  for  him.  He  had  come"thus 
far  on  Christmas  day  for  the  pleasure  it  gave  him  to 
make  others  happy,  and  he  spent  the  time  during  ser- 
vice in  the  churchyard  among  the  "holy  dead." 

The  ride  and  the  service  were  very  pleasant  to  Mary, 
and  the  "  Holy  Feast "  served  to  strengthen  and  settle 
a  heart  soon  to  be  sorely  tried.  Florence  was  delighted. 
She  had  never  been  to  Church  before ;  and  she  rattled 
on  after  her  return  for  an  hour  about  "  the  wreaths  and 
branches."  Above  all,  she  admired  the  service,  for  the 
simple,  childlike  reason  that  she,  with  a  little  aid  from 
Mary,  could  take  part  in  it. 

New  Year's  day  came,  and  with  it  Mr.  Marshall's  an- 
swer to  Mary's  last  letter ;  —  and  it  was  written  on  the 
evening  of  Christmas  day,  by  that  dear  study  fire  where 
she  had  so  often  sought  and  found  counsel  and  strength. 
Filled  as  Mary's  heart  was  with  gratitude,  by  several 
choice  "  gifts  of  the  season  "  from  her  pupils  and  friends, 
there  was  none  treasured  so  closely  or  dwelt  upon  so 
fondly  as  this  letter. 


250    THE  EECTOEY  OF  MORELAND: 

Moreland,  Christmas,  18 — 
MY  DEAR  DAUGHTER:  — 

It  is  Christmas  evening,  and  I  am  alone  in  my  study : 
my  thoughts  are  with  you.  Did  we  not  meet  to-day  in 
*  the  communion  of  saints  "  ?  How  blessed  are  these  re- 
unions with  the  distant  and  the  dead  !  Your  letter,  so 
full  of  pleasure,  made  me  very  happy ;  I  rejoice  in  your 
joy.  I  am  grateful  that  you  have  an  opportunity  for 
intercourse  with  intellectual  society.  Think  not,  my 
daughter,  I  would  cast  a  damper  on  your  joy  when  I 
say,  be  on  your  guard,  lest  you  fall  down  and  worship 
intellect.  It  is  a  godlike  gift,  but  not  so  God-pleasing 
as  u  an  humble,  contrite  heart."  I  am  sorry,  more  than  I 
can  express,  that  you  cannot  be  a  regular  attendant  at 
church.  Perhaps  when  spring  comes  you  may  be  able  to 
get  to  Stoney  Brook  oftener.  If  you  were  acquainted  with 
the  Rector,  may  be  you  would  not  find  him  so  "  dull  and 
stupid."  You  remember  what  George  Herbert  says  ?  — 

"  He  that  gets  patience,  and  the  blessing  which 
Preachers  conclude  with,  hath  not  lost  his  pains." 

My  dear  child,  "take  heed  what  you  hear."  I  am  per- 
sonally indebted  to  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Stephenson  for  their 
kindness  to  you,  and  also  to  Mr.  Hamilton  for  his  in- 
structions in  German. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  251 

It  gives  me  pleasure  to  inform  you  that  our  dear 
friend,  Arthur  Grey,  has  enclosed  a  note  for  five  hun- 
dred dollars  to  me,  to  be  devoted  to  "  the  care  and  edu- 
cation "  of  yourself  and  Grace.  It  was  very  noble  in 
him  to  remember  his  Moreland  friends  in  this  delicate 
way.  I  have  placed  the  money  in  safe  hands  till  your 
year  has  expired  at  Rocktown,  when  we  Avill  consult 
about  the  disposition  of  it ;  in  the  mean  time,  I  con- 
tinue to  instruct  Grace  with  Alice,  as  usual. 

Mrs.  Marshall  is  very  feeble  :  the  physicians  give  but 
little  hope  that  she  will  be  any  better.  She  requires 
much  of  my  attention,  and  this  has  made  my  letters  to 
you  less  frequent ;  but,  Mary,  my  prayers  are  poured 
out  for  you,  and  I  never  fail  to  commit  my  absent  daugh- 
ter into  the  hands  of  her  father's  God. 

Mrs.  Maynard,  thfe  aged  pilgrim,  is  at  rest :  her  death 
was  peaceful,  as  her  life  had  been  faithful. 

Mrs.  Watkins  sent  to  me  a  few  days  since,  with  an 
urgent  request  for  you  to  come  and  be  her  forewoman  ! 
"What  do  you  say  to  the  exchange  ?  I  think  there  could 
hardly  be  a  greater  contrast  than  between  the  society  in 
which  you  now  move  and  that  of  Mrs.  "Watkins's  shop. 

Josephine  gives  me  permission  to  tell  you  a  little  bit 
of  news  about  herself.  She  and  Dr.  Thurston  have 


252     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

concluded  to  walk  the  path  of  life  together.  I  know 
you  will  join  me  in  wishing  their  way  may  be  as  free 
from  thorns  as  shall  be  for  their  highest  good.  The 
Doctor  is  a  fine,  cheerful,  straightforward  person,  a  fa- 
vorite with  all  the  family. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Maurice  have  gone  to  New  York  for 
the  holidays.  Mr.  Maurice  is  earnest  with  Squire  Lee 
that  Ralph,  who  possesses  your  musical  talent,  should 
learn  to  play  the  organ.  His  father  asked  my  advice ; 
and  I,  fearing  the  result  of  making  music  a  study  with 
a  boy  of  Ralph's  ardent  and  sensitive  temperament,  pre- 
paring for  a  liberal  education,  gave  my  advice  against 
it.  I  fear  it  would  become  a  passion  with  him,  and  lead 
to  the  neglect  of  more  important  studies.  I  think  Ralph's 
practical  working  qualities  will  eventually  predominate 
over  his  impulsive  temperament,  especially  if  he  will 
carry  out  that  system  of  self-discipline  which  he  has 
already  commenced. 

I  have  written  you  a  long  letter,  and  endeavored  to 
tell  you  all  the  news,  knowing  that  plain,  matter-of-fact 
Moreland  is  still  very  dear  to  you. 

Let  me  hear  from  you  often.  Your  letters  are  always 
doubly  welcomed  by 

YOUR   AFFECTIONATE    FATHER. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  253 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

li  Therefore  the  poet 
Did  feign,  that  Orpheus  drew  trees,  stones,  and  floods.'' 

"  If  thou  wouldst  read  a  lesson  that  will  keep 
Thy  heart  from  fainting,  and  thy  soul  from  sleep, 
Go  to  the  woods  and  hills !     Xo  tears 
Dim  the  sweet  look  that  Nature  wears." 

MARY  HAD  been  somewhat  puzzled,  when  she 
first  came  to  Rocktown,  in  the  division  of  her 
time,  that  she  might  give  to  each  of  her  pupils  her 
proportion  of  instruction.  Squire  Harrington  had  fitted 
up  a  room  that  had  formerly  been  a  lawyer's  office, 
with  piano,  carpet,  seats,  and  blackboard,  for  general 
instructions  in  music.  Mary,  after  trying  several  plans, 
fixed  at  length  on  the  one  she  ever  after  pursued. 
Two  hours  every  morning,  and  one  every  afternoon, 
were  given  to  general  exercises,  and  a  half-hour  each 
day  to  a  private  lesson  to  each  pupil ;  thus  occupying 
Mary  seven  hours  of  every  day,  while  the  girls  could 
22 


254    THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

attend  to  their  other  studies  at  the  Academy.  The 
parents  were  well  satisfied  with  the  arrangement,  and 
the  pupils  made  more  than  ordinary  progress  in  music, 
with  the  exception  of  Emily  Burgess  ;  she,  poor  child, 
had  not  the  slightest  musical  taste  or  desire.  To  instruct 
her  was  the  only  really  disagreeable  duty  Mary  had  to 
perform  during  the  day,  and  she  never  shrank  from  it, 
or  for  a  moment  gave  way  to  impatience,  as  she  for  the 
tenth  tune  during  the  lesson  would  try  to  give  Emily 
some  idea  of  a  semitone,  or  the  difference  between  flats 
and  sharps.  It  seemed  to  Mary  great  folly  for  her  to 
undertake  to  impart  to  Emily  what  nature  had  withheld, 
a  musical  ear;  but  still,  from  a  sense  of  duty,  and  a 
desire  to  do  all  her  part,  she  gave  more  time  to  her 
than  to  any  other  pupil,  —  time  that  she  really  needed 
for  her  own  reading. 

"  Flora,  can  Emily  run  up  and  down  the  scale  yet  ?  " 
said  Dr.  Stephenson  to  his  daughter,  as  she  rose  from 
practising  her  last  music-lesson. 

"  Yes,  father,  I  believe  she  can  at  last.  But  she  can- 
not now  tell  whether  she  strikes  the  right  note." 

"  Perfect  nonsense !  as  I  told  her  father,  to  wear  out 
Miss  Evans  in  drilling  her  into  what  she  never  can 


OB    MY    DUTY.  255 

learn.  She  has  no  more  ear  for  sweet  sounds  than 
Beppo,"  he  said,  patting  a  large  Italian  greyhound,  that 
was  trying  to  poke  his  nose  into  his  master's  face. 

"  Beppo !  why  father,  listen  while  I  play  this  little 
polka,  and  see  Beppo's  ears  move  to  the  time  ;  while 
Emily,  I  dare  say,  would  n't  know  whether  I  was  play- 
ing Old  Hundred  or  a  "NValtz."  Saying  this,  the  little 
Miss  rattled  off  a  lively  air,  while  the  Doctor  laughed 
heartily  as  Beppo's  ears  did  move  backward  and  forward 
to  the  time.  "  But,  father,  it  would  surprise  you,"  said 
the  damsel,  turning  round  and  round  upon  the  music- 
stool,  "  to  see  how  poor  Miss  Mary  labors,  fairly  labors 
over  Emily.  I  really  feel  angry  sometimes  to  hear  her 
so  patiently  tell  her  for  the  twentieth  tune  the  appli- 
cation of  some  simple  rule." 

"  Mary's  sweet  temper  is  certainly  unsurpassed  by  any 
of  my  acquaintance,"  said  her  father,  casting  a  glance  at 
Mr.  Hamilton,  who  was  apparently  absorbed  in  reading, 
but  in  reality  an  attentive  listener. 

"  And  she  told  us  to-day,"  said  Florence,  running  and 
jumping  upon  her  father's  knee,  "  that  if  our  mothers 
and  fathers  were  willing,  she  would  form  a  class  in 
Botany  out  of  school  hours,  when  the  days  grew  a  little 


256     THE  KECTORY  OP  MORELAND  : 

longer,  and  take  us  to  walk,  and  show  us  all  about  the 
flowers." 

"  Very  kind  of  her,"  said  the  Doctor,  smoothing  the 
glowing  ringlets  of  his  daughter,  and  smiling  as  he 
thought  of  his  wife's  habit  of  calling  them  "auburn"; 
"  very  kind  indeed  of  Miss  Mary,  but  she  will  find  this 
a  barren  soil  for  Botany." 

"  Plenty  of  wild-flowers,  sir,"  said  Hartley  Hamilton, 
looking  up,  as  if  he  quite  entered  into  Mary's  idea,' — 
"  plenty  of  wild-flowers  ah1  about  Osier  Pond,  and  through 
Oakland  woods  ;  and  down  on  the  rocks  by  the  shore, 
mosses  and  lichens." 

"  But  you  don't  expect  these  girls  to  tramp  about 
through  the  swamps  as  you  do,  Hartley  ? " 

Mr.  Hamilton  made  no  reply,  but  resumed  his  read- 
ing- 
Time  did  not  lessen,  but  increased  daily,  the  favor 
with  which  Mary  was  regarded  at  Kocktown,  particularly 
in  the  family  of  Dr.  Stephenson.  And  when  the  bright, 
joyous  spring  days  came,  and  the  Botany  class  was 
formed,  and  all  her  pupils,  accompanied  almost  always 
by  Mr.  Hamilton,  and  sometimes  by  Mrs.  Stephenson 
herself,  (who  declared  it  made  her  think  of  her  own 


OR    MY    DUTY.  257 

spring-time  of  life,)  started  for  a  botanical  excursion, 
Mary  came  into  special  favor,  and  the  "  Miss  Evans " 
was  changed  by  the  whole  family  to  "  Mary." 

A  new  field  of  thought  had  been  opened  to  Mary  in 
her  German  readings, — beauties  of  which  she  had  before 
heard  or  thought  as  something  quite  out  of  her  reach. 
It  was  an  ever  new  delight  to  Mr.  Hamilton  to  teach 
Mary,  so  intelligently  did  she  select  the  finest  passages ; 
and  there  was  something  very  flattering  to  him  in  the 
pleasure  with  which  she  would  drink  in  the  beauties  of 
Schiller  and  Goethe,  as  they  fell  from  his  lips,  and  never 
grow  weary. 

Mr.  Hamilton  had  no  taste  for  the  amusements  of  the 
day ;  he  was  not  even  fond  of  music,  except  perhaps  a 
simple  ballad  as  Mary  warbled  it  forth,  from  very  neces- 
sity. Then  he  was  charmed,  and  would  strike  in  with  his 
deep  bass  voice,  which  was  exceedingly  musical,  although 
nothing  indebted  to  scientific  culture. 

Mr.  Hamilton  and  Mary  were  often  left,  during  the 
warm  summer  days,  (while  the  other  young  people  were 
riding  or  sailing,)  in  the  cool,  quiet  verandah,  drawing 
mystic  beauty  from  their  favorite  German  authors. 

"  You  keep  a  journal,  of  course  ?  "  said  Hartley,  one 
22* 


258     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND : 

summer  evening,  as  she  was  rejoicing  over  a  new-found 
beauty  in  Goethe. 

"  I  never  have  kept  one,"  said  Mar}',  blushing  deeply, 
as  if  she  had  discovered  some  neglect  of  duty.  "  It  is 
strange  that  I  have  not,"  she  added,  musingly,  "  but  my 
letters  home  have  been  journal-like." 

"  One's  memory  is  so  treacherous,"  said  Mr.  Hamilton, 
looking  up  into  Mary's  truthful  face,  "  that  I  think  you 
would  find  something  of  the  kind  of  great  assistance,  in 
gaining  and  retaining  knowledge  of  the  inner  life.  My 
past  journal  seems  to  me  like  an  old  friend,  tried  and 
familiar,  with  whom  I  can  consult  or  counsel  whenever  I 
will,  and  in  whose  presence  I  am  never  alone." 

"  I  have  a  Commonplace-Book,"  replied  Mary,  "  in 
which  I  note  down  the  most  impressive  passages  I  find 
in  my  reading  ;  but  I  never  thought  of  writing  my  own 
thoughts  upon  them :  it  would  seem  like  '  dimming  the 
fine  gold.' " 

"  Rather  say  polishing  the  fine  gold ! "  said  Hartley, 
with  a  look  of  unfeigned  admiration. 

Mary  wondered,  when  she  was  alone  that  night,  that 
she  had  never  thought  of  keeping  a  journal,  and,  more 
than  all,  that  Mr.  Marshall  had  never  suggested  it.  It 


OR    MY    DUTY.  259 

might  be  a  great  help,  she  thought,  in  her  religious  life, 
and  she  resolved  to  commence  at  once. 

Some  extracts  from  her  Journal  at  different  times  will 
give  an  idea  of  her  inmost  thoughts. 

"June  10,  18 — .  Brilliant  summer  is  here,  with  the 
long  golden  days  and  the  pleasant  sea-breeze.  I  never 
thought  so  much  of  the  sea  as  since  I  have  been  in 
Eocktown.  Mr.  Hamilton  and  I  went  with  Florence  to 
the  sea-side  to-day  to  gather  mosses.  He  repeated  those 
lines  that  I  so  often  heard  years  ago  from  Mr.  Maurice, 

'  Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  ocean,  roll  I ' 

and  I  could  not  but  contrast  in  my  mind  the  pure,  spir- 
itual nature  of  the  one,  with  the  gross,  sensual  character 
of  the  other.  Mr.  Hamilton's  society  is  delightful ;  every- 
thing seems  tame  and  commonplace  beside  his  thoughts. 
His  ideas  of  inspiration  trouble  me ;  he  says,  '  Why  is 
not  the  great  and  glorious  All-Father  as  willing  to  im- 
part to  me  inspiration,  if  I  seek  it  truly  from  him,  as  to 
men  who  lived  ages  ago  ? '  He  seems  an  earnest  truth- 
seeker  ;  why  is  it  that  he  does  not  find  it  in  the  sacred 
volume,  which  he  studies  so  constantly?  His  religion 
appears  lovely  as  it  is  manifested  in  his  daily  life:  so 


260     THE  RECTOKY  OF  MORELAND: 

kind,  considerate,  thoughtful ;  and  yet  when  I  try  to 
comprehend  his  faith,  there  is  to  me  a  barrenness,  an 
undefined  nothingness  about  it. 

"  I  feel  sad  to-night ;  I  could  not  go  to  church  yester- 
day, and  was  it  not  my  fault  that  I  did  not  go  ?  Yes,  I 
will  be  true  to  myself.  I  sat  up  so  late  Saturday  night, 
reading  Bettine's  letters  to  Goethe,  that  I  overslept  my- 
self, and  was  not  in  season  for  so  long  a  walk." 

"June  15,  18 — .  To-day  I  enter  on  the  last  quarter 
of  my  year  at  Rocktown.  Dr.  Stephenson,  Squire  Har- 
rington, indeed,  all  my  friends  here,  have  often  said 
they  could  not  let  me  give  up  my  class  at  the  end  of  the 
year ;  and  Mrs.  Stephenson  said  to-day,  she  would  not 
hear  of  it.  But  my  duty,  where  is  it  ?  Josephine  is  to 
be  married  in  October,  Mrs.  Marshall  grows  daily  more 
feeble ;  will  it  not  be  my  duty,  and  ought  it  not  to  be 
my  pleasure,  to  take  Josey's  place  at  home?  Be  still, 
ungrateful  heart !  Can  it  be  that  I  feel  a  rising  of  dis- 
content, when  I  think  of  sacrificing  all  these  delightful 
friends  and  returning  to  my  father's  house  ?  My  father ! 
to  be  with  him  ought  to  be  an  inducement  to  leave  every 
other  pleasure.  To  help  him,  ought  to  lead  me  gladly 
from  the  most  inviting  friendships." 


OR    MY    DUTY.  261 

"  July  7,  18 — .  It  is  three  weeks  since  I  have  written 
in  my  journal.  Florence,  dear  child,  has  been  very  sick. 
She  was  seized  in  the  night  Avith  croup.  The  noise  of 
her  breathing  wakened  me,  and  I  called  her  parents. 
For  two  or  three  days  she  hung  between  life  and  death ; 
she  clung  to  me  during  the  whole  of  her  illness.  How 
fortunate  that  she  did  so!  for  Mrs.  Stephenson  was  so 
prostrated  by  grief  as  to  be  unable  to  assist  in  the  care 
of  her.  Hartley  stood  over  her,  as  she  lay  almost  lifeless 
in  my  arms,  and  thanked  me  warmly  for  my  care  of  her. 
He  has  a  noble  heart,  and  yet  he  shocked  me  when  he 
spoke  of  baptism  as  an  '  obsolete  ceremony.'  Florence 
is  almost  well  again,  but  very  pale  and  gentle.  I  have 
tried  to  teach  her,  in  our  hours  of  privacy,  something  of 
my  faith  ;  and  the  child  listens  eagerly.  It  seems  to  me 
right  to  have  done  this. 

"  Miss  Parsons  called  this  week  upon  me  as  a  member 
of  the  same  Church  as  herself.  I  felt  ashamed  of  her, 
and  the  way  she  run  on  about  Church,  and  Church  people, 
telling  what  they  do  and  what  they  do  not  believe,  with 
as  much  authority  as  if  she  was  the  expounder  of  the 
faith.  Dr.  Stephenson  said,  after  she  was  gone,  '  Tak- 
ing her  exposition  of  the  belief  of  the  Church,  it  is 


262 


THE    EECTOEY    OF    MORELAND : 


an  ecclesiastical  omnibus,  and  she  is  appointed  to  take 
the  tickets.' 

"I  was  wicked  enough  to  think  she  wished  to  gain 
favor  with  the  family,  by  leaving  the  impression  that 
belief  in  anything  was  not  essential." 


OR    MY    DUTY.  263 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

"  A  flower  that  in  its  withering 

Preserved  its  fragrance  long; 
A  spirit  that  had  lost  its  wing, 
But  still  retained  its  song." 

«  TTQW  SHOULD  you  feel,  wife,"  said  Dr.  Ste- 
JL-L  phenson,  as  lie  threw  down  the  newspaper  one 
hot  day  in  August,  and  commenced  fanning  himself  vio- 
lently, "if  Mary  should  take  away  with  her  Hartley's 
heart,  or  '  his  inner  life,'  as  he  calls  it  ? " 

Mrs.  Stephenson  raised  her  head  from  the  couch 
where  she  had  thrown  herself,  and  looked  as  if  she 
had  been  dreaming.  "  You  are  not  serious,  husband  ?  " 
said  she,  smiling  incredulously. 

"  Never  more  so,"  he  said.  "  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  it 
is  a  crisis  with  Hartley." 

"  He  ought  to  look  higher,"  said  Mrs.  Stephenson,  hes- 
itatingly. 


264     THE  RECTOBY  OF  MOEELAND: 

g 

"  He  might  look  farther  and  fare  worse,"  said  the 
Doctor,  resolutely.  "  I  don't  wonder  at  all,  wife  ;  I  am 
sure,  if  I  had  been  a  young  man,  I  should  have  proposed 
long  ago." 

"  She  is  very  fond  of  Florence,"  mused  Mrs.  Stephen- 
son. 

"  She  is  kind  to  every  one,"  said  her  husband,  wiping 
his  glasses,  "  and  every  way  worthy  of  Hartley,  who  is 
as  fine  a  fellow  as  need  be,  only  a  little  misty" 

"  He  would  object  to  her  bigoted  faith,"  said  his 
wife. 

"  O  nonsense,  wife !  what 's  faith  where  love  is  con- 
cerned ?  No,  he  will  rejoice  in  the  delightful  prospect 
of  mystifying  her  as  fully  as  he  has  bewildered  himself. 
What  was  your  faith,  pray,  when  I  married  you  ?  " 

Mrs.  Stephenson  smiled,  for  she  remembered  she  was 
brought  up  one  of  the  "  straitest  sect." 

"  We  met  last  night,"  continued  the  Doctor,  "  in  the 
music-room,  and  proposed  to  give  her  four  hundred  dol- 
lars if  she  would  stay  another  year ;  but  she  said,  very 
decidedly,  and,  I  must  say,  very  beautifully,  after  thank- 
ing us  and  expressing  with  tears  her  warm  interest  in 
her  pupils, '  Gentlemen,  the  path  of  duty  is  the  path  of 


OR    MY    DUTY.  265 

my  choice.     I  must  return  home  and  keep  my  father's 
house  for  him,  at  least  for  the  present.' " 

The  last  month  at  Rocktown  was  not  so  perfectly 
happy  for  Mary  as  its  predecessors.  After  the  first 
dawn  of  suspicion  as  to  the  nature  of  Mr.  Hamilton's 
feelings  for  her  crossed  her  mind,  she  strove  to  with- 
draw herself  from  his  society.  An  undefined  feeling  of 
uneasiness  in  his  presence,  and  a  weariness  in  his  ab- 
sence, troubled  her.  Several  times  he  had  spoken  to 
her  with  so  much  tenderness  of  voice  and  manner,  that 
she  was  startled,  fearful  lest  she  had  put  herself  forward 
in  some  unmaidenly  way. 

"  September  8,  18 — .  I  am  to  leave  Hock  town  next 
week.  Florence  hangs  upon  me  continually,  begging 
me  to  come  back.  I  have  obtained  her  mother's  per- 
mission to  give  Florence  my  best  Prayer-Book.  She 
will  value  it  for  itself,  I  think.  Hartley  said  some  things 
to  me  last  night  that  made  me  fear  I  had  not  been  as 
dignified  and  reserved  as  I  ought  to  have  been ;  and  yet 
it  was  not  so  much  what  he  said,  as  his  look  and  tone, 
and  the  warm  pressure  of  my  hand.  When  we  parted 
he  said,  '  There  will  be  a  dark  shadow  across  my  path 
when  you  are  gone,  Mary.' " 
23 


266     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND : 

The  day  for  Mary's  departure  came,  and  her  pupils 
took  leave  of  her  with  weeping  eyes.  Florence  almost 
smothered  her  with  kisses,  and  at  the  same  time  put  a 
dainty  note  into  her  hand,  saying,  in  a  whisper  just  loud 
enough  for  everybody  to  hear,  "  Uncle  Hartley  would 
not  stay  to  see  you  go,  but  sent  you  this." 

"  Just  like  Hartley,"  said  Dr.  Stephenson,  wiping  his 
eyes  by  way  of  sympathy ;  "  gone  off  to  Osier  Pond  to 
drive  away  thought." 

Mary  longed  to  read  the  note ;  but  miles  of  her  home- 
ward journey  were  gone  over  before  she  took  it  from 
its  hiding-place.  At  length  a  real  interest  in  its  possible 
contents  prevailed,  and  drawing  a  thick  veil  over  her 
face,  she  proceeded  to  read  this,  her  first  love-letter,  in 
a  railroad  car.  Mary  was  astonished  at  the  depth  of 
feeling  Hartley  expressed  for  her ;  she  was  amazed  that 
he  had  seen  through  all  her  disguises,  and  guessed  that 
his  love  was  returned.  It  was  very  pleasant  to  be  thus 
loved  with  such  manly  devotion,  and  wholly  for  one's 
self.  It  was  a  new  joy  to  Mary,  and  for  a  while  she 
rejoiced  in  the  delight.  Flowers  seemed  to  strew  her 
path  for  life.  Respected  as  the  wife  of  Hartley  Ham- 
ilton must  be,  moving  in  intellectual  society ;  but  above 


OR    MY    DUTY.  267 

all,  to  feel  herself  the  star  that  should  light  the  life  of 
such  a  noble  soul; — it  was  a  delicious  dream  to  her  young, 
loving  heart.  Sternly,  for  a  moment,  did  she  bid  con- 
science and  duty  be  quiet,  and  let  her  enjoy  the  vision. 
But  duty  had  been  too  long  the  guide  of  that  truthful 
soul  to  be  cowed  by  one  rebellious  word.  Conflicting 
thoughts  came  thick,  fast,  and  overwhelming,  and  she  was 
still  lost  in  thought  when  she  heard  the  cry,  "  Moreland 
Station ! " 


268    THE  BECTOKY  OF  MORELAND: 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

"  Give  me  but 

Something  whereunto  I  may  bind  my  heart, 
Something  to  love,  to  rest  upon,  to  clasp 

Affection's  tendrils  round." 

MKS.  HKMAXS. 

"  I  turn  to  Thee  alone : 
0  bid  my  fainting  spirit  live, 
And  what  is  dark  reveal ; 
And  what  is  evil,  0  forgive, 
And  what  is  broken  heal ; 
And  cleanse  my  nature  from  above, 
In  the  deep  Jordan  of  Thy  love ! '' 

KiSV.   MR.   MARSHALL,  with  Grace,  Alice,  and 
Ralph,  and  the  two  little  girls,  Minnie  and  Isabelle* 
stood  on  the  platform  looking  eagerly  for  "  Sister  Mary." 
Did  she  meet  her  kind,  large-hearted  father  with  less 
warmth  than  a  year's  absence  demanded  ?     She  feared 
so ;  and  reproached  herself  for  it. 

He  was  changed ;  his  dark  locks  were  thickly  .silvered, 


OR    MY    DUTY.  269 

and  that  frame,  so  tall  and  robust,  looked  thinner  and 
not  quite  so  erect. 

Mary  pressed  her  father's  hand  and  wept,  when  she 
saw  how  disease  and  suffering  had  weakened  Mrs.  Mar- 
shall's mind,  and  reduced  her  always  slender  figure  to 
a  mere  skeleton.  Mary  had  not  told  her  plans:  she 
had  kept  them  for  pleasant  surprises  to  her  friends  at 
home.  She  showed  her  father  a  letter  she  had  received 
the  day  before  she  left,  from  the  gentlemen  in  Rocktown, 
urging  her  return,  expressing  their  personal  regard  for 
her,  and  making  her  advantageous  offers  of  larger  salary ; 
and  then  told  him  her  reply. 

"  And  this  was  sacrificed  for  me,  Mary,"  said  Mr. 
Marshall.  "  It  is  too  much :  I  cannot  let  you  deprive 
yourself  of  such  a  place  and  such  society  for  my  com- 
fort." 

"No,  father,  nothing  is  too  much  for  me  to  do  for 
you ;  and  it  is  better  for  me  to  be  in  Moreland,"  she 
added,  with  a  deep  sigh. 

She  made  an  earnest  effort,  for  she  saw  how  sore  was 

the  need  to  be  cheerful,  and  she  succeeded  much  of  the 

time,  in  spite  of  the  heartache.      But  she  must  reply 

to  Hartley's  note.      Day  after  day  passed,  and  yet  she 

23* 


270     THE  EECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

* 

could  not  bear  to  seal  her  destiny  forever,  and  dash  from 
her  lips  a  cup  that  seemed  so  brimful  of  happiness.  She 
felt  her  father's  earnest  gaze  upon  her  pale  face,  as  he 
handed  her  a  letter  with  the  Rocktown  post-mark.  Hart- 
ley had  a  right  to  be  impatient.  She  came  so  near  faint- 
ing, that  her  father  supported  her  to  a  seat. 

"  You  are  sick,  my  daughter,"  he  said,  gently ;  ''  watch- 
ing and  care  have  over-fatigued  you." 

"O  no!"  replied  Mary,  struggling  resolutely  with  her 
feelings.  "  It  is  not  that,  it  is  this"  she  added,  turning 
away  her  face,  and  giving  him  the  note  she  had  first 
received  from  Mr.  Hamilton,  and  the  yet  unopened  letter. 
She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  gave  way  to  a  burst 
of  passionate  weeping,  such  as  she  had  not  known  since 
her  head  rested  on  her  dying  mother's  pillow. 

"This  is  enough,  Mary,"  said  Mr.  Marshall,  after 
reading  the  open  note.  "  Have  you  replied  to  this  ? " 

Mary  shook  her  head. 

"I  think  by  your  agitation  that  the  young  man  has 
guessed  the  truth  ;  —  Mr.  Hamilton  is  dear  to  you. 
Try  to  calm  yourself,  my  daughter,  and  tell  me,  is  it 
so  ?  The  acknowledgment  need  not  cause  you  shame." 

Mary  did  not  speak.     Mr.  Marshall  waited  some  time, 


OE    MY    DUTY.  271 

and  then  continued,  "The  path  of  duty,  Mary,  is  very 
plain,  so  far  as  this:  this  letter  demands  an  immediate 
answer.  It  is  an  honorable  and  gentlemanly  epistle,  and 
does  credit  to  the  head  and  heart  of  the  writer ;  and  I 
am  persuaded  my  Mary's  reply  will  do  credit  to  her 
training,"  he  added,  taking  both  her  hands  in  hi.s,  as  she 
ceased  sobbing.  "  Is  there  any  insurmountable  obsta- 
cle in  the  way?  If  you  feel  for  Mr.  Hamilton  that 
affection  without  which  there  cannot  be  happiness  in  the 
married  life,  let  nothing  here  at  home  interfere  — 
He  turned  deadly  pale.  "  Mary,  it  is  a  fearful  thing  to 
trifle  with,  or  regard  lightly,  the  heart's  best  earthly  af- 
fection ;  and  it  would  be  a  life-long  grief  to  me  to  know 
you  sacrificed  your  feelings,  and  the  feelings  of  another, 
for  the  comfort  of  my  home.  Let  no  thought  of  my 
claims  upon  you  as  a  daughter  interfere  with  an  ar- 
rangement that  may  conduce  to  your  happiness  for  life. 
Although  it  will  be  very  sad  to  lose  you  from  my  family 
circle,  I  will  readily  give  you  up  to  one  who  has  a 
higher  claim  upon  you." 

"No,  dearest  father,"  said  Mary,  who  had  regained 
something  of  her  self-possession,  though  she  trembled 
still  with  the  strength  of  her  emotion,  "  I  cannot  marry 


272  THE    RECTORY    OP    MOJJELAND: 

Hartley  Hamilton,  dearly  as  I  love  him,  without  leaving 
what  is  dearer  to  me  than  my  life.  It  is  not  my  earthly 
father's  house  alone  I  must  leave,  if  I  become  his  wife, 
but  the  house  of  my  Heavenly  Father,  and  become  an 
exile  from  the  Church  in  which  I  was  born  and  nur- 
tured." 

"  Can  it  be,  Mary,  that  Mr.  Hamilton  is  opposed  to 
your  religious  faith  ?  " 

"Father,"  said  Mary,  slowly  looking  up  with  her 
truthful  eyes  into  his  sympathizing  face,  "  dear  as  he  is 
to  me,  I  must  say  it,  he  is  opposed  to  all  creeds  and 
all  churches  ;  but  not  with  bitterness.  O  no  !  there  is  no 
bitterness  in  his  soul ;  and  his  heart  yearns  for  the  truth, 
and  it  seems  strange  that  one  so  earnest  and  sincere 
should  be  left  to  doubt  and  deny  what  is  dearer  to  me 
than  life." 

"  Unaided  human  reason,  my  dearest  daughter,  is  but 
a  poor  guide  to  the  humbling  truths  of  our  holy  re- 
ligion. I  am  sorely  grieved  for  you,  Mary,"  he  added, 
drawing  her  towards  him,  "but  this  is  a  matter  in  which 
your  conscience  must  guide  you ;  I  would  not  dare  even 
to  advise  you.  Act  for  yourself  and  Mr.  Hamilton  as 
your  sense  of  duty  dictates.  My  claims  upon  you  as  a 


OR    MY    DUTY.  273 

father,  I  repeat,  are  inferior  to  his ;  for  you  have  given 
each  other  a  treasure  of  earthly  love  ;  and  nothing  but 
a  belief  that  his  influence  would  win  you  from  your 
duty  to  God  would  warrant  you  in  casting  from  you 
th/e  choicest  gift  the  heart  of  man  can  bestow.  Let  us 
seek  counsel  where  we  have  so  often  sought  it  in  the 
darkest  times." 


274    THE  EECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

"  Yet  even  the  greatest  griefs 

May  be  reliefs; 

Could  he  but  take  them  rightr  and  in  their  ways. 
Happy  is  he  whose  heart 
Hath  found  the  art 
To  turn  his  double  pains  to  double  praise." 

HERBERT. 

"  "TTOU  NEED  not  be  alarmed  about  Hartley,"  said 
I      Dr.  Stephenson  to  his  wife,  as  he  came  in  one 
frosty  morning  in  October ;  u  Jacque  Griggs  says  he  saw 
him  before  daylight  in  his  skiff  on  Osier  Pond." 

In  Oakland  woods,  Hartley  Hamilton  had  built  what 
he  called  a  wigwam,  of  willow  boughs,  and  often  in  sum- 
mer had  spent  whole  days  and  even  nights  there.  Miv  -r 
of  his  books  and  writing-utensils  were  there.  The  wig 
warn  was  adorned  on  the  inside  with  mosses,  sea-weed, 
dried  grass,  and  flowers,  picked  in  his  botanical  rambles 
with  Mary.  In  his  absence  he  moored  his  boat  under 


OR    MY    DUTY.  275 

these  sheltering  branches.  Let  us  look,  over  his  shoulder 
as  he  makes  an  entry  in  his  Journal,  after  his  early  row 
on  the  pond. 

"  Osier  Pond,  October  3,  18 — .  I  am  better  now. 
Nature  is  my  physician  :  she  never  frowns  upon  me, 
or  casts  back  the  wealth  of  love  I  lay  at  her  feet. 
This  is  a  precious  letter  of  Mary's,  although  it  seals 
us  separate  for  ever.  How  purely  and  nobly  she 
shows  me  her  whole  heart  !  And  yet,  while  she  lis- 
tens to  the  voice  of  her  inner  soul,  she  tells  me  she 
cannot  be  mine.  Between  us  there  comes  the  barrier 
of  a  harsh,  rigid,  and  bygone  creed.  There  is  nothing 
false  in  her  truth-loving  soul :  she  submits  to  the  destiny 
that  separates  us,  although  it  crushes  her  young  heart. 
The  thing  some  men  call  conscience,  which  has  often 
caused  man  to  take  the  life  of  his  fellow,  calls  upon  her 
to  sacrifice  her  heart's  best  treasures  on  the  shrine  of 
religion.  This  is  the  religion  of  church  and  priest,  but 
not  the  worship  of  nature's  God ! " 

Mary's  Journal  lay  open  before  her,  and  there  was 
the  same  date.  Tears  blistered  the  page. 

"  Moreland,  October  3,  18 — .  I  have  sent  my  letter 
to  Hartley,  and  we  are  for  ever  parted.  My  swollen 


276    THE  RECTORY  OP  MORELAND: 

eyes  and  aching  heart  tell  something  of  the  struggle 
between  duty  and  inclination.  I  could  not  have  be- 
lieved that  any  suffering  would  have  made  everything 
look  so  indifferent,  so  lifeless.  I  move  about  like  an 
automaton.  My  all-absorbing  love  for  Hartley  seems 
to  have  dried  up  every  other  stream.  I  look  upon 
my  blessed  father  even  with  coldness.  How  very 
kindly  and  tenderly  he  looks  upon  me !  I  wish  he 
would  not  ;  for  his  kindness  brings  up  this  heart- 
bursting,  and  indifference  is  more  easily  borne.  Will 
the  sun  never  look  bright  to  me  again  ?  Grace  brought 
me  a  beautiful  bunch  of  cardinals  and  gentians,  and 
I  did  not  even  thank  her,  but.  looked  up  so  coldly ! 
It  must  have  grieved  her,  poor  child !  God  grant  she 
may  never  pass  through  what  I  am  enduring.  I  often 
think  what  dear  Jeanette  once  said,  —  she  feared  her 
love  for  Arthur  was  idolatry.  I  understand  now  what 
she  meant.  Sometimes  I  think  my  influence  might  in 
time  have  led  Hartley  into  the  right  path  ;  but  when  I 
remember  that  hij  persuasions  led  me  lightly  to  regard 
important  truths,  I  tremble  to  think  of  the  fearful  gulf 
of  unbelief  over  which  I  have  stood,  and  into  which  I 
have  looked  with  almost  longing  eyes." 


OR    MY    DUTY.  277 

The  next  entry  in  Mary's  Journal  which  we  shall 
give,  was  written  the  Christmas  after  her  return. 

"Christmas,  18 — .  To  the  world  a  season  of  festivity ; 
hut  to  my  lone,  desolate  heart,  the  annual  remembrance 
of  my  mother's  death.  How  lonely  has  the  house  been 
to-day!  but  the  desolation  has  been  more  congenial 
than  gayety.  Grace  and  Alice  are  at  school,  at  the 

Seminary  in  II where  I  taught  music.  I  insisted 

that  my  portion  of  Arthur's  benevolent  gift  should  be 
spent  on  Alice.  Arthur  is  studying  divinity  in  the 
same  city,  and  the  girls  see  him  often.  Josephine  and 
Dr.  Thurston  are  very  happy.  She  says  she  thinks 
she  loves  Edmund  Thurston  the  more  for  having  known 
the  villany  of  Anthony  Maurice.  I  hope  I  am  not 
envious  of  Josephine's  happiness ;  but  somehow  it  gave 
me  the  heartache,  when  she  took  me  over  her  house, 
and  said,  playfully,  '  Pretty  soon  you  will  be  fitting  a 
house  for  yourself ! ' 

"  I  know  I  am  wicked  and  rebellious ;  and  I  know 
father  thinks  so,  for  how  very  sad  he  looked  to-day, 
when  I  told  him  I  could  not  go  to  church.  I  have  not 
been  to  the  Communion  since  I  came  from  Rocktown. 
Is  this  a  remnant  of  Hartley's  influence?  I  am  afraid 
24 


278    THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

• 

that,  instead  of  cheering  my  poor  father's  life,  I  add  to 
his  already  heavy  burden  of  sorrow. 

"  I  have  had  several  petitions  from  Professor  Ilenshaw 
to  teach  music,  with  offers  of  large  salaries  ;  but  what 
are  they  to  me  ?  I  know  father  thinks  I  did  wrong  to 
decline  playing  the  organ  in  church.  I  believe  I  have 
done  but  one  thing  that  really  pleased  him  this  long 
while  ;  and  that  was  burning  the  volumes  of  the  Halo 
I  brought  from  Rocktown.  Father  pronounced  their 
tendency  infidel,  and  asked  me  so  kindly  to  destroy 
them,  that  I  should  have  been  very  ungrateful  to  have 
refused,  although  it  cost  me  many  a  sigh  to  commit  to 
the  flames  pages  over  which  I  have  mused  with  one 
'so  loved,  so  lost.'  I  once  loved  the  quiet  study  talks 
•with  father,  but  I  trembled  to-night  when  he  ar-kcd  me 
if  I  would  give  this  evening  to  him.  It  is  quite  dark, 
and  he  Avill  be  waiting.  I  must  go." 

Mr.  Marshall  and  Mary  sat  in  silence  for  some  time, 
looking  mournfully  into  the  fire. 

"  Mary,  my  daughter,"  lie  said,  at  length,  "  why  do 
you  thus  forsake  the  Table  of  the  Lord?  You  need 
comfort ;  why  not  come  where  it  is  offered  you  so  lov- 
ingly?" 


OR    MY    DUTY.  279 

"  Because,  father,  my  affections  are  dreary  and  cold, 
and  an  earthly  love  has  so  chilled  all  heavenly  desires, 
that  —  "  Tears  prevented  Mary  from  proceeding. 

"  And  yet,  my  dearest  daughter,  you  have  renounced 
that  earthly  love  at  the  call  of  duty,  and  bravely  put 
from  you  a  cup  of  earthly  bliss,  lest  it  should  wean  you 
from  the  truth  ;  and  now  you  will  not  come  and  receive 
the  reward  that  is  promised  you  :  '  Xo  man  hath  left 
house,  or  brethren,  or  sisters,  or  father,  or  mother,  or 
wife,  or  children,  or  lands,  for  my  sake  and  the  Gospel's ; 
but  he  shall  receive  an  hundred-fold  now  in  this  time, 
and  in  the  world  to  come  eternal  life.' 

"Mary,"  he  added,  laying  his  hand  gently  on  her 
head,  that  rested  on  his  arm,  "  you  have  given  up  the 
earthly  love,  but  you  will  not  take  the  heavenly.  I  see 
that  your  daily  duties  here,  while  they  occupy  your 

I  hands,  do  not  employ  your  mind ;  this  is  why  I  was 
urgent  that  you  should  play  the  organ  for  our  church 
services.  This  state  of  things  must  not  continue,  my 
daughter.  Do  not  think  me  harsh,  if  I  say  I  shall  be 
compelled  to  advise  your  acceptance  of  some  one  of  the 
numerous  situations  Professor  Henshaw  offers  you." 

"  Do  not  send  me  away  from  you,  dear  father  !  "  said 
Mary  imploringly. 


280  THE   RECTOItY   OF  MORELAND: 

"  If  I  send  you  away,  it  will  be  because  I  love  you 
too  well  to  see  you  wasting  the  energies  of  your  mind 
in  brooding  over  the  past.  Mary,  I  have  my  suspicions 
that  you  keep  a  journal.  Is  it  so?" 

"  Yes,  father,"  she  replied,  looking  up  with  surprise. 

"  My  advice  to  you,  then,  is  to  commit  it  to  the  flames." 
Mary  started. 

"  Why,  father  ?  " 

"Journal  writing,  to  one  in  your  state  of  mind,  is 
worse  than  useless.  A  diary  of  simple  events  may  be 
serviceable,  but  a  record  of  feeling  will  certainly  not 
be  for  your  good.  Trust  me,  I  speak  from  experience. 
Such  a  record  encourages  a  morbid  sentimentalism,  and 
sometimes  selfishness." 

Thus  did  Mr.  Marshall  continue  to  converse  with 
Mary,  drawing  from  her  a  full  confession  of  her  sorrows ; 
and  when,  after  praying  with  her,  he  affectionately  bade 
her  good  night,  with  the  usual  blessing,  Mary  confessed 
to  herself  that  for  many  months  she  had  not  been  so 
peaceful  or  so  prepared  for  duty. 

Fortunately  for  us,  she  did  not  immediately  destroy 
her  Journal ;  but  she  closed  it  with  a  seal,  hiding  it  away 
in  an  unfrequented  corner,  and  it  was  a  long  time  before 
it  came  to  light. 


OB   MY   DUTY.  281 

From  that  day  the  struggles  in  Mary's  breast  were 
met  bravely  ;  it  would  be  more  correct  to  say,  in  a  Chris- 
tian-like manner ;  and  the  Easter  vacation,  that  brought 
Grace  and  Alice  from  school,  and  Arthur  Grey  to  Moi'e- 
land  for  the  first  tune  since  the  death  of  Jeanette,  found 
Mary  restored  to  her  usual  calm  cheerfulness.  Not  that 
Hartley  Hamilton  was  forgotten.  Nightly  she  prayed 
that  he  might  find  a  surer  Saviour  than  his  own  unaided 
reason.  That  was  an  Easter  full  of  pleasant  memories 
to  the  family  at  the  Kectory.  The  same  holy  day  that 
witnessed  Arthur  Grey  kneeling  at  the  altar,  to  be  set 
apart  as  a  minister  of  Christ's  Church,  found  Grace  and 
Alice  kneeling  at  the  same  altar,  to  renew  the  vows  made 
for  them  at  their  baptism. 


24* 


282     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 


CHAPTER    XL. 

"  For  not  that  which  men  covet  most  is  best, 

Nor  that  thing  worst  which  men  do  most  refuse : 
But  fittest  is  that  each  contented  rest 
v"  h  that  they  hold;  each  has  his  fortune  in  his  breast." 

SPEKSEK. 
"  Life  hath  as  many  farewells 

As  it  hath  sunny  hours, 
And  over  some  are  scattered  thorns, 
And  over  others  flowers." 

MRS.  SMITH. 

FOUR   YEARS   had   elapsed  since   the   events  re- 
corded in  the  last  chapter.     Mary  was  now  sole 
housekeeper  at  the   Rectory.     The  parish  gossips  pro- 
nounced her  an  "  old  maid,"  although  she  had  scarcely 
reached  her  twenty-fifth  year. 

Grace  and  Alice  had  left  school,  and  Mr.  Marshall's 
other  daughters,  Minnie  and  Isabelle,  had  become  very 
lovely  under  Mary's  constant  care. 

Mrs.  Marshall  had  closed  her  eyes  on  earthly  things, 


OB    MY    DUTY.  283 

and  rested  beneath  the  churchyard  pines.  Mr.  Mar- 
shall was  considering  a  call  to  a  large  parish  in  the  city 

of  B .  Mary,  with  tears  in  her  eyes  for  Moreland, 

had  said,  "  Dear  father,  I  know  you  will  do  what  is 
right." 

Ralph  had  suddenly  displayed  a  desire  for  military  re- 
nown, and  a  situation  had  been  procured  for  him  at  West 
Point,  where  he  had  gone,  notwithstanding  all  his  sis- 
ter's anxious  endeavors  to  make  him  look  with  contempt 
on  military  ambition  and  glory.  Squire  Lee  was  more 
willing  to  part  with  him,  as  his  home  Avas  made  uncom- 
fortable by  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Maurice.  Anthony 
Maurice,  with  his  fortune,  genius,  and  brilliant  talents, 
had  fallen  step  by  step,  till  his  wife  had  been  obliged 
to  seek  a  refuge  from  personal  abuse  in  the  home  of 
her  childhood,  —  there  to  embitter  by  her  unhappy  tem- 
per the  last  days  of  her  parents. 

"  Mary,"  said  Mr.  Marshall,  "  I  have  declined  the  call 

to  B ,  giving  up  '  the  larger  field,  and  much  larger 

salaiy ' ;  for  I  feel  that  the  strong  affections  of  my  peo- 
ple, and  their  united  love  for  me,  and  my  deep  attach- 
ment for  everything  belonging  to  this  parish,  should  not 
be  disturbed  by  a  call  that  can  be  answered  far  better 


284     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

by  some  other  clergyman.  And  I  have  other  pleasant 
news,"  he  added,  — "  at  least  it  is  pleasant  to  me,  and 
I  think  it  will  be  so  to  you." 

Mary  had  sprung  from  her  seat  at  the  study-table, 
where  she  was  adjusting  the  weekly  family  accounts,  to 
assist  her  father  in  removing  his  outer  garments.  "  Dear 
father,  I  am  glad  you  are  not  to  leave  Moreland,  every- 
thing is  so  dear  to  me  here";  —  she  looked  toward  the 
churchyard.  "But  what  is  the  other  pleasant  news?" 
she  added,  as  she  brought  his  slippers. 

"  I  said  pleasant  IICAVS,  Mary ;  there  is  something 
painful  about  it  too.  Arthur  has  asked  my  permission 
to  take  away  Grace." 

Mary  turned  pale. 

"  Are  you  sorry  ? "  said  her  father,  tenderly  support- 
ing her. 

"  O  no,  father !  if  it  was  any  one  but  Arthur,  I  might 
be.  He  is  the  only  man  worthy  of  our  sweet  Grace. 
I  never  thought  it  before,  but  she  is  very  like  our  dr;ir 
blessed  Jeanette  in  character."  She  looked  again  toward 
the  churchyard,  and  saw  the  youthful  figure  of  Gr:i<-<\ 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  Arthur  Grey.  They  were  coming 
from  Jeanette's  grave. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  285 

***** 

Four  years  passed  again,  and  Ralph,  with  his  glitter- 
ing epaulettes,  claimed  from  her  father  the  hand  of  Alice 
Marshall.  They  had  been  attached  from  childhood,  and 
having  been  so  long  one  in  heart,  their  marriage  was 
looked  upon  as  a  matter  of  course. 

The  same  day  that  witnessed  this  wedding,  as  Mary 
sat  in  the  study,  thinking  of  this  brother  and  sister,  now 
doubly  brother  and  sister,  her  eye  rested  on  an  obituary 
notice  in  a  Church  paper  that  had  just  been  opened  :  — 

"In  Rocktown,  on  Easter  even,  Miss  Florence  Ste- 
phenson,  only  child  of  Dr.  Walter  Stephenson,  aged 
twenty  years  and  six  months.  In  the  communion  of  the 
Catholic  Church,  in  the  confidence  of  a  certain  faith,  in 
the  comfort  of  a  reasonable,  religious,  and  holy  hope, 
in  favor  with  God,  and  in  perfect  charity  with  the 
world." 

Mary  remembered  the  Prayer-Book  she  had  given 
Florence,  and  the  many  quiet  talks  they  had  held  to- 
gether touching  matters  of  faith,  and  with  her  tears  was 
mingled  thankfulness  that  this  young  heart  had  been 
brought  into  the  truth,  it  might  be  through  her  influ- 
ence. Her  stay  in  Rocktown,  she  would  hope,  had  not< 
been  altogether  useless. 


286    THE  RECTORY  OF  MQRELAND: 

Mr.  Marshall  told  Mary  that  day  the  story  of  his 
early  life,  and  she  felt  grateful  to  a  kind  Providence, 
,who  had  permitted  her  to  comfort  his  declining  years. 
He  was  dearer  than  ever  to  her.  His  two  younger 
daughters  had  grown  into  womanhood,  and  might  find 
new  homes;  and  Mary  found  an  unspeakable  pleasure 
in  the  thought  that  her  life  would  be  spent  under  the 
shadow  of  the  Church,  and  in  the  companionship  of  her 
father. 

"  His  ready  smile  a  parent's  warmth  expressed, 
Her  welfare  pleased  him,  and  her  cares  distressed; 
He  tried  each  art,  reproved  each  dull  delay, 
Allured  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way." 


OR    MY    DUTY.  287 


CHAPTER    X  L I . 

"Thought!  busy  thought! 

o'er  all  the  pleasing  past 

In  quest  of  wretchedness  perversely  strays ; 
And  finds  all  desert  now ;  and  meets  the  ghosts 
Of  my  departed  joys. 
And  every  pleasure  pains  me  to  the  heart." 

THE  SUMMER  following  the  wedding  of  Ralph 
and  Alice  was  a  fearful  season.  Pestilence  stalked 
through  the  length  and  breadth  of  our  land,  and  More- 
land  did  not  escape.  Mr.  Marshall  and  Mary  were  inde- 
fatigable in  their  attentions  to  the  sick  and  dying,  allow- 
ing no  thought  of  danger  to  themselves  to  prevent  their 
listening  to  the  calls  of  suffering.  Minnie  and  Isabelle 

had  returned  from  the  Seminary  at  II to  escape  the 

scourge,  and  were  efficient  auxiliaries  in  the  family,  while 
Mary  was  constantly  sought  for  watching  and  nursing 
abroad. 

But  the  fearful   pestilence  found   them   even  in  the 


288     THE  KECTORY  OF  MOEELAND: 

quietude  of  the  Rectory,  and  a  few  short  hours  saw 
Isabelle,  the  younger  of  the  sisters,  changed]  from  buoy- 
ant life  and  full  health,  to  cold  and  lifeless  clay.  Poor 
Minnie  was  almost  heart-broken,  and  wandered  about  the 
house  without  aim  or  purpose.  She  had  never  been 
separated  from  Isabelle  even  for  a  single  night,  and  this 
sudden  stroke  bewildered  her.  The  stricken  father  re- 
signed himself  meekly  to  the  blow,  and  went  as  usual, 
administering  consolation  to  the  sick  and  dying,  while 
grief  pressed  sore  upon  his  own  heart.  Mary  exerted 
herself  to  an  unaccountable  degree  :  she  soothed  Minnie, 
watched  by  the  death-bed  and  closed  the  dying  eyes  of 
one  who  in  life  and  health  had  despised  her,  even  Vir- 
ginia Maurice ;  went  from  house  to  house  with  cordials, 
both  for  body  and  mind ;  counted  over  with  her  dear 
father  "  their  gathering  store  in  Paradise " ;  and  when 
sometimes  her  own  hope  would  nag,  or  her  wearied  heart 
grow  faint,  she  would  go  alone  into  the  church  and  walk 
those  solemn  aisles,  or  kneel  at  the  chancel-rail,  imploring 
help.  But  the  darkest  day  passes,  and  September,  with 
its  nights  "  frosty,  but  kindly,"  checked  the  frightful  epi- 
demic ;  and  fearful  faces  and  trembling  voices  began  to 
assume  their  wonted  calmness.  The  people  generally 


OR    MY    DUTY.  289 

returned  to  health  and  business ;  but  Mary  looked  pale 
and  exhausted,  while  Minnie  was  calm,  but  more  ab- 
stracted. 

"  Mary,"  said  Mr.  Marshall  one  morning,  when  Min- 
nie, as  was  now  quite  common,  excused  herself  from 
coming  to  the  table,  and  he  observed  also  Mary's  pale 
face  and  untasted  breakfast,  "  I  have  a  plan  which  I 
think  will  be  for  Minnie's  health,  and  perhaps  benefit 
us  all.  The  General  Convention  meets  in  Cincinnati 
this  month,  and  I  propose  taking  you  and  Minnie  to 
attend  the  meetings,  making  a  short  stay  in  Philadelphia 
with  Arthur  and  Grace,  and  calling  perhaps  on  our  way 
home  at  Sackett's  Harbor,  and  see  how  Ralph  and  Alice 
look  in  the  barracks.  I  see  what  you  are  about  to  say," 
he  added,  as  Mary  looked  up  from  her  cup  of  coffee, 
with  which  she  had  been  playing  for  the  last  few  min- 
utes, with  a  look  of  amazement ;  "  you  are  considering 
the  expense.  What  will  you  say  when  I  tell  you,  my 
people  not  only  volunteer  to  pay  all  our  expenses,  but 
also  to  supply  my  parish  with  the  services  of  the  Church 
while  we  are  away,  and  repair  the  Rectory  thoroughly 
during  our  absence  ?  Did  the  Lord  ever  place  un  un- 
worthy servant  among  so  kind  and  generous  a  people  ?  " 
25 


290          THE    BECTOBY    OF    MORELAN1>: 

• 
"  So  grateful  a  people,  father,'r*said  Mary,  rising  and 

seating  herself  beside  him.     "  Are  AVC  to  go  soon  ?" 

"  I  expect  we  shall  be  absent  at  least  three  weeks, 
perhaps  four.  Can  you  prepare  as  soon  as  the  first  of 
the  week  ?  We  will  give  Grace  and  Arthur  a  pleasant 
surprise,  and  perhaps  they  will  let  little  Herbert  or  Jea- 
nette  come  with  us  when  we  return  to  Moreland." 

"  Trist  Grace  for  parting  with  her  little  ones,  even  to 
come  10  her  own  dear  home,  unless  we  bring  her  too," 
said  Mary,  smiling,  and  looking  more  like  herself  than 
she  had  done  for  some  weeks. 

Mr.  Marshall  observed  the  change,  and  argued  well 
for  the  effect  of  the  journey,  at  least  upon  Mary.  "  Call 
Minnie,  my  daughter,  and  let  us  hear  what  she  says  to 
our  plan." 

Minnie  came  at  her  father's  bidding,  cold  and  pale  as  a 
statue.  "  Minnie,  darling,"  said  her  father,  as  he  took 
her  on  his  knee,  and  rested  her  cheek  against  his,  "would 
you  like  to  go  with  sister  Marv  and  me,  to  see  Arthur 
and  Grace  ?  " 

Minnie  shuddered,  and  shook  her  head. 

u  But  you  will  go  if  I  wish  it  very  much,  and  think  it 
is  for  the  best  ?  " 


OE    MY    DUTY.  291 

She  gave  a  lingering  and  silent  assent.  Tears  came 
into  the  father's  eyes,  and  Mary  wept ;  Minnie  looked  up 
wonderingly,  sighed  deeply,  but  there  were  no  tears. 

So  quiet  had  been  the  even  tenor  of  Mary's  life,  that 
she  had  not  taken  a  long  journey  since  the  memorable 
return  from  Rocktown,  and  the  brilliant  hues  of  autumn, 
and  the  exhilarating  coolness  of  the  air,  Avere  charming  to 
both  her  and  her  father ;  but  they  brought  no  smile  to 
the  cheek  of  Minnie. 

Our  travellers  reached  Philadelphia  on  the  evening  of 
the  second  day  after  leaving  home.  When  they  came  to 

the  house  of  Rev.  Mr.  Grey,  which  was  in Square, 

all  was  so  hushed  and  still,  and  the  servants  moved  about 
so  noiselessly,  that  they  feai'ed  there  was  sickness  there, 
and  were  not  surprised,  when  ushered  into  the  drawing- 
rooms,  to  learn  that  Mrs.  Grey  was  in  her  chamber. 

However,  Mr.  Grey  was  soon  called,  and  his  smiling 
face  and  hearty  welcome  removed  all  their  fears,  and 
he  bade  them  congratulate  him  on  the  birth  of  a  second 
daughter. 

Every  day  spent  in  the  society  of  this  happy  family 
brought  the  color  to  Mary's  cheek,  and  vigor  to  her 
frame ;  but  poor  Minnie  roamed  over  the  house,  and 


292     THE  RECTOEY  OF  MOEELAND: 

fixed  upon  nothing  with  interest  but  the  baby.  Of  Mr. 
Marshall's  children,  Minnie  had  always  been  Arthur's 
favorite,  and  it  grieved  him  to  see  how  sorrow  was 
wearing  into  her  young  heart,  —  a  heart  that  he  had 
only  known  as  joyous  and  happy  as  the  spring  birds; 
and  he  used  every  exertion  to  awaken  her  from  her 
grief.  Nothing  moved  her  from  her  abstracted  silence, 
till  Arthur  took  her  with  him  on  one  of  his  parochial 
visits.  It  was  with  a  design  of  showing  her  how  far 
greater  bereavement  than  hers  could  be  borne,  that  Mr. 
Grey  obtained  Minnie's  reluctant  consent  to  go  with  him 
to  see  Susan  Dale.  The  fatal  scourge  that  had  broken 
up  so  many  families,  had  left  her  without  any  claim  upon 
fellow-mortal  for  relationship.  Her  father,  two  brothers, 
and  a  twin  sister  had  fallen,  and  she,  a  young  girl  of 
seventeen,  was  left,  enfeebled  by  disease  and  in  compar- 
ative poverty.  Arthur  told  Minnie  the  story  of  Susan 
as  they  went ;  and  when  she  saw  her  emaciated  by  suf- 
fering, dependent  upon  hirelings  for  can-,  and  yet  so 
peaceful  and  grateful  to  God  for  leaving  her  the  pre- 
cious ministrations  of  Christ's  Church,  Minnie's  heart 
was  melted. 

"How  selfish  and  wicked  I  have  been,"  .-la- 


OR    MY    DUTY. 


293 


as  she  kissed  her  father  good  night,  "  to  forget  all  the 
dear,  kind  friends  that  are  left  me  !  Forgive  me,  dear 
father,  it  shall  be  so  no  longer." 

Mr.  Marshall  pressed  his  weeping  daughter  to  his 
heart,  and  said  :  " '  The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath 
taken  away.'  Let  us  not  refuse  to  say, '  Blessed  be  the 
name  of  the  Lord.'  * 


294     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 


CHAPTER    XLII. 

"  They  also  serve,  who  onl}'  stand  and  wait." 

MILTON. 
"  So  be  it,  Lord !  I  know  it  best, 

Though  not  as  yet  this  wayward  breast 

Beat  quite  in  answer  to  thy  voice ; 

Yet  surely  I  have  made  my  choice." 

«  TT1ATHER,"  SAID  Mary,  as  they  were  left  alone 
JL     after  dinner  in  the  spacious  apartment  Mr.  Grey 
had  arranged  as  a  library,  "  I  think  I  shall  not  go  with 
you  to  Cincinnati." 

"  Not  go  to  the  Convention,  Mary ! "  said  Mr.  Mar- 
shall, in  a  tone  of  mingled  astonishment  and  disappoint- 
ment. "  Why,  I  thought  that  was  the  chief  attraction  of 
the  journey ! " 

"  Yes,  father ;  but  Arthur,  I  know,  wishes  to  go,  and 
surely  it  is  of  more  importance  for  him  than  for  me. 
"We  cannot  all  leave  Grace ;  and  if  I  stay,  Arthur  will 
feel  free  to  cro." 


OR    MY    DUTY.  295 

"  I  can't  think  of  your  being  disappointed  in  this  cher- 
ished wish,  Mary ;  perhaps  Minnie  would  rather  stay 
than  not," 

"  I  think  she  would,"  replied  Mary,  "  but  she  might 
fall  again  into  those  moody  turns,  from  which  she  is 
beginning  to  arouse  herself.  Besides,  dear  father,  it  will 
be  better  for  Minnie  to  go  without  me ;  she  will  become 
more  self-dependent.  She  is  very  fond  of  Arthur's 
society,  and  he  loves  dearly  to  pet  her.  And  on  the 
whole " 

"On  the  whole  I  must  consent  to  my  daughter's 
arrangement ;  and  although  contrary  to  my  will,  it  is, 
I  own,  a  most  unselfish  plan  on  your  part." 

And  so  it  came  to  pass,  that  Mary  saw  her  father 
depart  with  Arthur  and  Minnie  for  the  beautiful  State 
of  Ohio,  and  that  gathering  of  the  Church  to  which  she 
had  often  looked  wishfully.  She  suppressed  the  sigh 
that  rose  to  her  heart,  and  turned  to  caress  the  new- 
comer. 

"  Grace,  sister  dear,  I  have  a  wish,  —  shall  I  tell  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mary ;  if  it  is  anything  I  can  procure  for  you, 
you  are  sure  of  it." 

"  I  wish  you  to  let  me  name  this  darling  babe,  and 
choose  her  godmother." 


296    THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

• 

Grace  looked  at  Mary  with  wonderment,  to  see  if 
she  knew  what  she  was  saying,  as  it  was  only  the  day 
before  she  had  told  her  the  baby  was  to  be  called 
"Mary  Evans,"  and  she  wished  her  to  be  sponsor. 

"  Will  you  call  her  Isabelle,  and  ask  Minnie  to  stand 
for  her  ? "  said  Mary,  without  apparently  observing  the 
look  of  wonder  with  which  Grace  regarded  her.  "  It 
will  do  Minnie  good,"  she  added,  "  and  be  good  for  baby ; 
and  will  please  father,  I  think,  very  much." 

"  Minnie  is  very  young  for  a  godmother,"  mused 
Grace. 

"  Yes,  darling,  she  is  young ;  but  no  younger  than  one 
little  girl  I  remember,  who  had  the  imprudence  to  have  a 
little  baby  of  her  own  before  she  was  quite  nineteen." 

Grace  smiled  and  blushed,  and  then  said,  "  She  was 
willing,  if  Arthur  could  change  his  mind  about  it." 

Mary  saw  no  difficulty  there,  and  so  the  matter  ended 
for  the  present. 

A  few  days  after  the  departure  of  the  party  for  the 
Convention,  Mrs.  Harris,  the  wife  of  the  junior  warden 
of  Mr.  Grey's  parish,  called  on  Mrs.  Grey.  She  was 
the  most  intimate  acquaintance  Grace  had  in  the  city; 
and  when  she  politely  urged  Mary  to  go  with  her  to  a 


OR    MY    DUTY.  297 

lecture  to  be  delivered  that  evening  before  a  Society  for 
the  Diffusion  of  Useful  Knowledge,  Grace  obviated  all 
Mary's  objections,  and  the  invitation  was  accepted. 

The  immense  hall  where  the  lecture  was  to  be  deliv- 
ered was  brilliantly  lighted,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harris, 
with  Mary,  were  in  season  for  obtaining  the  best  seats  ; 
and  Mary  found  ample  amusement,  before  the  commence- 
ment of  the  lecture,  in  observing  the  assembling  audi- 
ence. She  was  recalled  from  watching  a  group  of  merry 
girls  seated  near  her,  by  the  voice  of  the  President  of 
the  Society,  who  arose  and  introduced  to  the  audience 
Hartley  Hamilton,  Esq.,  from  Boston.  How  quickly 
was  the  whole  current  of  Mary's  thoughts  and  feelings 
changed !  For  a  few  minutes  a  partial  unconsciousness 
came  over  her.  She  did  not  raise  her  eyes,  or  move ; 
but  she  listened  to  the  musical  tones  of  a  voice  that  had 
been  —  that  was  dear  to  her.  She  gathered  in  the  beau- 
tiful and  noble  thoughts  that  fell  like  pearls  from  the  lips 
of  the  speaker.  The  subject  Avas  one  of  deep  interest,  — 
"The  Tendencies  and  Temptations  of  the  Age,"  —  and 
most  eagerly  Mary  caught  here  and  there  a  word  that 
said,  as  plainly  as  words  could  speak,  that  unbelief  had 
passed  or  was  passing  away.  Mary  did  not  think:  she 


298    THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

lost  herself;  and,  after  her  return  home,  could  scarcely 
believe  that  this  was  not  one  of  the  wild,  visionary 
dreams  that  sometimes  visited  her  slumbers.  She  blun- 
dered upon  a  suitable  reply  when  Mrs.  Harris  asked  her 
opinion  of  the  lecture,  and  made  some  incoherent  remark 
to  Grace  when  she  asked  who  lectured,  and  whether  she 
was  entertained. 

But  little  sleep  visited  Mary  that  night.  Disciplined 
and  schooled  as  she  was,  thoughts  of  the  past,  with  its 
crushed  hopes  and  never-forgotten  love,  would  come.  The 
moonlight  came  into  her  room,  and  she  arose  and  looked 
out  The  streets  were  filled  with  people  returning  from 
their  prolonged  amusements  ;  carriages  rolled  rapidly  by. 
How  she  longed  for  the  peace  and  quietness  of  More- 
land  !  —  and  yet,  she  thought,  "  he  may  be  near."  She 
hastily  put  down  the  curtain  and  Avalked  the  room.  She 
could  hear  the  loud  beatings  of  her  heart,  and  a  low, 
musical  voice  which  said,  "  There  will  be  a  dark  shadow 
across  my  path,  Mary,  when  you  are  gone."  She  won- 
dered if  there  was  a  shadow  across  his  patli  now.  IVr- 
haps  his  home  was  lighted  by  another's  smile.  This  was 
a  new  thought  to  her,  and  she  did  not  relish  the  bitter 
pang  it  brought  to  her  heart ;  she  supposed  she  htul 


OK    MY    DUTY.  299 

taught  herself  long  ago  to  feel  that  he  could  never  be 
aught  to  her  but  a  friend.  Perhaps  she  was  even  now 
committing  a  great  sin  in  thinking  of  him.  For  a  time 
she  was  given  to  tormenting  thoughts,  but  self-discipline, 
and  an  earnest  desire  to  do  right,  prevailed,  and  the 
struggle  ended  in  a  deep  and  earnest  prayer  for  pro- 
tection against  "all  evil  thoughts  that  may  assault  and 
hurt  the  soul " ;  and  with  the  morning  light  peace  and 
quietness  revisited  her  bosom.  Mary  studiously  avoided 
afterward  the  many  invitations  for  walks,  rides,  and 
sight-seeing  that  were  given  her  in  the  absence  of  her 
father ;  she  had  sufficient  excuse  for  declining  politely, 
for  Grace  had  not  yet  left  her  chamber.  Mary  feared 
a  revival  of  the  feelings  of  the  lecture  evening,  but  she 
would  not  have  been  woman  if  she  had  not  felt  some 
curiosity  as  to  the  whei'eabouts  of  Hamilton :  but  she 
heard  nothing.  Once,  indeed,  she  saw  his  name  in  a 
newspaper,  as  pleading  in  an  important  case  in  court. 
Grace  knew  nothing  of  the  story  of  her  love,  for  Mary 
had  that  instinctive  delicacy  which  foi-bade  her  speaking 
to  any  one  of  a  lover  she  had  refused.  Her  father's  ear 
alone  had  heard  the  tale  of  her  sorrow. 

When  the  party  returned  from  the  Convention,  they 


300     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELANDI 

found  Mary  looking  thinner  and  paler  than  when  they 
left;  while  Minnie  was  mueh  improved  by  her  journey. 
The  color  had  begun  to  return  to  her  cheek*,  and  her 
step  had  resumed  something  of  its  former  elasticity.  Ar- 
thur amused  even  Mary  by  recounting  the  many  times 
Minnie  had  been  taken  for  his  wife ;  and  how  very  grave; 
Mr.  Marshall  looked,  because  they  rode  some  hours  in 
the  stage  with  a  young  gentleman  who  was  lalx>ring 
under  this  delusion,  and  Arthur  did  not  undeceive  him, 
but  confirmed  the  mistake  by  addressing  Minnie  as  «  my 
dear."  Father  thought  it  was  not  quite  clerical,  hut 
Arthur  still  relished  a  joke  in  spite  of  his  cloth.  "  Si-ier 
Mary,"  he  added,  "  it  need  not  surprise  you  if  you  see 
this  young  gentleman  at  Moreland  Rectory  before  many 
months,  as  I  observed,  after  my  true  relationship  to 
Minnie  was  made  known,  lie  quite  forsook  my  society, 
and  devoted  himself  exclusively  to  father.  But,  Sisti-r 
Mary,  I  have  something  to  tell  you  which  interests  you 
personally.  I  met  my  old  acquaintance,  Archie  Stan- 

wood,  who  was  in  II when  you  were  at  Professor 

Hcnshaw's.  lie  asked  most  particularly  after  you.  and 
said  a  great  many  things,  in  his  usual  self-conceited  vein, 
which  I  shall  leave  him  to  tell  you  himself  some  time." 


OR    MY    DUTY.  301 

Mary  colored  deeply,  but  forced  herself  to  ask,  "  Has 
he  a  parish  yet  ?  " 

"  O,  yes  !  and  needs  a  wife,  he  says,  most  amazingly. 
From  the  account  he  gave  of  some  of  his  parish  scandal, 
J  should  think  he  had  more  than  his  share  of  Maynard 
&  Co." 

"If  he  had  the  proper  dignity,"  said  Mr.  Marshall, 
gravely,  "  which  would  have  prevented  his  repeating  the 
scandal,  it  might  have  prevented  the  scandal  itself." 

"  Perhaps  so,  father ;  but  he  thinks  a  helpmeet  would 
be  the  best  preventive,  and  will  try  for  one  at  More- 
land  Rectory,  I  reckon." 

Mary's  color  grew  deeper,  and  the  expression  of  her 
countenance  distressed. 

"  I  trust,  Arthur,"  said  Mr.  Mai-shall,  "  he  will  not 
come  to  Moreland  on  any  such  errand.  He  has  already 
had  the  mind  of  the  family  on  that  subject ;  and  I  am 
sorry  that  he  has  not  sufficient  self-respect  and  discretion 
to  keep  his  own  secrets." 

Arthur  saw  at  once  how  matters  stood,  and  ceased  his 
jokes  when  he  knew  they  caused  pain. 

26 


302    THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 


CHAPTER    XL1II. 

"  0,  if  there  be  a  sight  on  earth 

That  makes  good  angels  smile, 
'T  is  when  a  soul  of  mortal  birth 
Is  washed  from  mortal  guile. 

"  When  some  repentant  child  of  Eve's 

In  age  is  born  anew ; 
Or  when  on  life's  first  buds  and  leaves 
Falls  the  baptismal  dew. 

"  But  all  the  same !     The  soul  that,  in 

That  laver  undefiled, 
Is  truly  washed  from  wrath  and  sin, 
Must  be  a  little  child." 

KKV.  A.  C.  COZB. 

ARTHUR  GREY  had  returned  from  his  journey 
full  of  life  and  spirits,  but  with  a  severe  cold.  He 
was  so  hoarse  on  the  following  Sunday,  that  Mr.  M;ir- 
shall  conducted  the  services,  and  preached  for  him.  The 
next  day  he  took  remedies  for  his  cold  that  kept  him 
housed.  In  the  evening,  Dr.  Davis,  a  friend,  and  ilic 


OR    MY    DUTY.  303 

physician  of  the  family,  called  in  haste.  He  had'  come 
for  Mr.  Grey  to  visit  a  gentleman  that  had  been  taken 
suddenly  ill  at  a  hotel.  He  was  a  stranger  in  Phila- 
delphia, and  had  desired  to  see  a  clergyman  of  the 
Church. 

"But  you  are  not  fit  to  go  out  to-night,"  said  the 
Doctor,  observing  the  hoarseness  of  Arthur's  voice. 

"  I  should  go  certainly  in  such  a  case,"  said  Mr.  Grey, 
rising  and  moving  towards  the  door. 

"  Perhaps  I  could  go  in  your  place,  Arthur."  said  Mr. 
Marshall,  "  as  the  gentleman  is  a  stranger.  I  really 
think  prudence  demands  that  you  should  not  take  this 
chilly  evening  air." 

After  the  persuasions  of  the  family  and  the  counsel 
of  the  physician,  Arthur  was  induced  to  resume  his  seat 
by  the  fire,  and  allow  Mr.  Marshall  to  go  in  his  stead. 

On  the  way  to  the  hotel,  the  clergyman  gathered  all 
the  Doctor  knew  of  the  stranger,  which,  although  he  said 
it  was  "next  to  nothing,"  surprised  Mr.  Marshall.  He 
was  a  young  gentleman  by  the  name  of  Hamilton,  a 
lawyer  from  Boston,  or  thereabouts.  He  had  been 
pleading  in  an  important  case,  now  pending  in  the 
courts.  He  had  spoken  of  no  friend  by  name,  but  had 
once  mentioned  Rocktown  in  a  half-waking  state. 


304     THE  BECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

On  entering  the  sick-chamber,  the  physician  walked 
to  the  couch,  and,  gently  taking  the  hand  of  the  patient, 
felt  his  pulse.  The  young  man  opened  his  eyes.  Before 
he  could  speak,  Dr.  Davis  said  in  a  low  tone,  "I  have, 
brought  a  clergyman  to  see  you,  Rev.  Mr.  Marshall." 

A  look  of  perplexity  crossed  the  pale  brow  of  the 
young  man ;  but  when  Mr.  Marshall  approached,  he  put 
out  his  hand,  and  said  faintly,  "Thank  you." 

Dr.  Davis  motioned  to  the  nurse  to  go  into  the  ante- 
room; then,  coming  again  to  his  patient,  he  said,  "I  leave 
you  now  for  a  while  with  Mr.  Marshall.  You  must  not 
exert  yourself  too  much ;  you  are  by  no  means  out  of 
danger :  your  pulse  is  better  to-night ;  and  if  you  do  not 
have  any  return  of  yesterday's  symptoms,  you  may  get 
up  again ;  but  beware  of  excitement." 

"Marshall?  —  Marshall?"  whispered  the  sick  man, 
as  the  door  closed  after  the  Doctor ;  "  no,  no  ! "  Then 
turning  toward  Mr.  Marshall,  who  stood  by  tin-  bedside, 
he  said,  "The  name  seems  familiar.  I  am  away  from 
all  my  friends,"  he  added,  motioning  the  clergyman  to 
take  a  seat  by  him,  "and  have  refused,  till  to,-day,  to 
have  them  informed  of  my  situation,  although  I  know  I 
am  very  sick.  There  is  not  one  of  them,"  he  said,  fix- 


OR    MY    DUTY.  305 

ing  his  bright,  intellectual  eyes  earnestly  on  Mr.  Mar- 
shall, "  that  can  give  me  what  I  need,  or  comfort  me  in 
the  least  concerning  the  future.  I  was  once,  sir,  an  un- 
believer." He  paused.  "Yes,  I  was  an  infidel;  but 
that  passed  away.  I  cannot  tell  you,"  lie  said,  much 
moved,  "what  first  shook  the  foundations  of  my  unbe- 
lief. Let  it  suffice  that,  about  half  a  year  since,  I  lost 
one  who  was  dear  to  me  as  a  child.  I  was  with  my 
niece  during  the  whole  of  her  illness  ;  it  was  the  first 
tune  death  had  touched  one  of  my  cherished  idols. 
Florence  had  been  for  several  years,  before  her  par- 
ents and  her  friends,  —  who  were  all  more  or  less  tinc- 
tured with  infidelity,  —  a  humble  follower  of  Jesus,  a 
baptized  member  of  his  Church,  Many  times  in  health, 
when  I  would  talk  or  reason  with  her,  she  would  say 
so  sweetly,  'Uncle  Hartley,  my  Saviour  is  all  my  hope 
for  time  and  eternity.  Do  not  cloud  my  faith  with  your 
doubts  ;  but  bring  your  longing  soul  to  His  cross,  and 
you  shall  be  satisfied.'  At  times  she  would  plead  with 
me  with  tears,  and  say,  'You  have  been  yearning  and 
seeking  for  truth  these  many  years,  but  you  have  never 
tried  Christ,  who  is  the  "Way,  the  Truth,  and  the  Life.' 
I  turned  from  it  all,  and  tried  to  love  again  the  cold, 
26* 


306     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

heartless  philosophy  I  had  sought  before  ;  but  it  had  lost 
its  charm." 

Mr.  Hamilton's  voice  faltered,  and  Mr.  Marshall,  tak- 
ing his  hand,  said,  "  My  dear  sir,  all  you  say  has  inter- 
ested me  very  deeply  for  you,  but  I  fear  this  exertion 
may  prove  unfavorable  to  your  recovery." 

"  No,"  he  replied  faintly,  "  I  have  but  little  more  to 
tell.  Her  departure  was  calm  and  peaceful,  and  I  prom- 
ised her,  as  her  dying  head  lay  on  my  breast,  that  I 
would  seek  truth  and  rest  where  she  had  sought  and 
found.  I  have  sought  them  here"  he  added,  as  his  hand 
rested  on  a  well-worn  Bible  and  Prayer-Book.  "  These 
were  her  dying  gift." 

"  And  you  have  found  peace  and  rest,"  said  Mr.  Mar- 
shall, with  deep  emotion  in  his  tones,  as  he  took  the  books 
in  his  hand. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  young  man  musingly,  "  in  a  meas- 
ure ;  there  is  still  darkness  and  doubt  about  my  path. 
But  I  resolved,  before  I  came  to  Philadelphia,  that  on 
my  return  home  I  would  end  my  doubts  by  receiving 
Holy  Baptism ;  for  I  believe,  although  faintly :  and  now 
—  what  hinders  me?  I  have  already  deferred  it  too 
long?" 


OR    MY    DUTY.  307 

The  clergyman  replied,  in  the  words  of  Philip  the 
deacon,  "  If  thou  believest  with  all  thy  heart,  thou 
mayest." 

"  Lord,  I  believe  ;  help  thou  mine  unbelief ! "  said  the 
young  man,  earnestly  clasping  his  hands. 

Mr.  Marshall  kneeled  by  the  bedside,  and  poured  forth 
the  solemn  confessions  of  sin,  and  promises  of  pardon, 
that  so  abound  in  the  prayers  of  the  Church.  After- 
ward he  talked  quietly  for  a  few  minutes  of  the  loving 
kindness  with  which  God  receives  the  repentant,  return- 
ing sinner ;  and  how  Christ  makes  himself  known  to  the 
earnest-minded  in  the  sacraments  of  his  Church.  He 
then  gave  the  young  man  his  blessing,  promising  to  come 
in  the  morning  with  Rev.  Mr.  Grey,  and  give  him  the 
sacrament  of  Baptism. 

When  Mr.  Marshall  returned  to Square,  the  city 

clocks  were  striking  the  hour  of  midnight.  The  family 
had  retired,  except  Mary,  who  waited  in  the  study  for 
her  father's  return. 

"  'T  is  a  chilly  night,"  he  said,  as  he  seated  himself  on 
the  couch  before  the  cosey  study-fire  that  Mary  had  pre- 
pared for  him.  "  I  think  it  is  rarely  colder  than  this  in 
New  England  at  this  season.  Come  and  sit  by  me,  my 


308     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

daughter ;  I  have  something  to  tell  /ou,  that  will  make 
you  very  glad." 

Mary  seated  herself  by  his  side ;  but  some  minutes 
•  •lapsed  before  he  spoke.  lie  had  entered  on  dangerous 
ground.  It  was  many  years  since  Mary  had  spoken  to 
him  of  Mr.  Hamilton ;  he  could  not  know  how  it  might 
affect  her  to  know  that  he  was  dangerously  ill,  and  so 
near.  For  Mary  to  know  that  Mr.  Hamilton  had  bowed 
his  proud  heart  to  the  religion  of  Jesus,  and  was  next 
day  to  be  received  into  Christ's  fold,  would  give  to  her 
a  joy  no  other  intelligence  could  bring ;  but  might  not 
speaking  of  him  revive  feelings  that  must  be  quenched  ? 
He  looked  at  Mary's  pale  face,  lighted  with  the  glow  of 
expectation.  "Mary,  dear/'  he  said  at  length,  "there 
may  be  some  pain  mingled  with  the  pleasure  I  wish  to 
impart." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  her  father's  face  with  the  same 
truthful,  trustful  look  that  had  its  dwelling  there  long 
ago,  and  replied,  "  Yes,  father,  there  are  few  joys  but 
have  a  touch  of  sorrow  :  yet  I  am  sure  joy  has  ever 
been,  in  my  cup,  by  far  the  greater  part  of  the  draught" 

Mr.  Marshall  pressed  her  hand,  and  another  long  si- 
lence ensued. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  309 

"Was  the  gentleman  to  whom  you  were  called  very 
sick,  father  ?  "  said  Mary. 

Here  was  an  opening,  and  he  replied,  "Yes,  Mary, 
very  ill,  although  more  comfortable  than  last  night.  My 
interview  was  a  very  gratifying  one  :  the  young  man 
has  been  an  unbeliever,  but  — "  He  looked  at  Mary 
with  a  keen,  inquiring  glance. 

There  was  a  bright  spot  in  either  cheek,  as  she  clasped 
her  hands,  and  said  in  a  low  whisper,  "  But  he  is  an 
unbeliever  no  longer.  God  be  praised  !  " 

"Yes,  Mary,  I  have  seen  Mr.  Hamilton,  and  he  has 
not  only  given  up  his  unbelief,  but  now  calls  upon  me, 
as  a  minister  of  Christ's  Church,  to  give  him  the  badge 
of  a  member  of  Christ, —  the  sign  and  seal  of  his  for- 
giveness." 

Mary  bowed  her  head :  she  could  not  speak.  She 
had  so  schooled  and  disciplined  her  heart,  that  not  one 
feeling  of  self  marred  the  thought,  "There  is  joy  in 
heaven  over  one  sinner  that  repenteth." 

Afterward,  in  her  own  room,  she  wept  that  he  was  ill, 
and  among  strangers. 

The  next  morning  was  a  mild,  autumnal  morning, 
without  any  of  that  chilliness  that  had  characterized  its 


CIO     THE  RECTORY  OF  MOBELAXI): 

predecessor.  Mr.  Grey  was  so  nnich  relieved  of  liis 
cold,  that  he  accompanied  Mr.  Marshall  to  the  sick- 
chamber  of  Hartley  Hamilton.  They  found  him  slipp- 
ing. 

As  they  waited,  Arthur  took  up  a  Prayer-Book. 
u  What  does  this  mean  ? "  he  said  in  a  tone  of  sur- 
prise, as  he  read  on  the  fly-leaf,  "  Florence  Stephenson, 
with  the  love  and  best  wishes  of  her  friend  and  teacher, 
Mary  Evans."  The  Collect  for  the  Fourth  Sunday 
after  Trinity  was  written  below,  unmistakably  in  M.-irv's 
hand. 

Mr.  Marshall  put  his  finger  to  his  lip,  and  made  no 
reply,  for  the  sleeper  was  awaking. 

The  physician  had  been  in,  and  feared  the  drowsiness 
was  an  unfavorable  symptom.  There  was  to  be  a  con- 
sultation on  his  case  in  the  afternoon.  His  countenance 
was  calm  and  peaceful,  but  exceedingly  pale  :  the  fever 
was  entirely  gone,  and  his  hand  was  cold  and  clammy. 

"  I  expect  my  sister,"  he  said  faintly,  "  in  the  first 
train  from  the  East.  I  wish  to  have  her  pr»-><  nt.  \\]u-i\ 
I  make  those  solemn  vows." 

Mr.  Marshall  looked  at  his  watch  :  the  train  was  due ; 
and  it  was  not  many  minutes  before  they  heard  voices 


OB    MY    DUTY.  311 

in  the  hall,  approaching  the  sick-room.  They  stepped 
into  the  ante-room,  that  the  brother  and  sister  might 
meet  -without  the  presence  of  strangers.  Dr.  Stephen- 
son  and  wife  came  in  with  Dr.  Davis,  who  introduced 
them  to  the  clergymen.  Mrs.  Stephenson  Avas  dressed  in 
the  deepest  mourning,  and  her  step  had  lost  that  bound- 
ing elasticity  which  Mary  had  so  much  admired  in  their 
walks  by  the  sea-shore.  The  first  conference  between 
the  brother  and  sister  was  not  long ;  and  when  the 
clergymen  were  called  in,  Mrs.  Stephenson  was  kneel- 
ing by  the  bedside,  weeping  bitterly.  The  sick  man's 
hand  was  on  her  head,  and  he  was  endeavoring  to  soothe 
and  calm  her  agitation. 

Mr.  Marshall  commenced  the  Office  for  the  Visitation 
of  the  Sick,  and  went  from  that  to  the  baptismal  ser- 
vice. In  the  mean  time,  Mr.  Grey  had  covered  a  small 
table  with  a  white  napkin,  and  placed  on  it,  filled  with 
pure  water,  the  silver  bowl  which  he  had  brought  with 
him.  The  responses  of  the  sick  man  were  audible,  al- 
though faint,  throughout  the  services ;  but  when  he  came 
to  answer,  with  Arthur  Grey,  his  chosen  witness,  to  the 
Questions  in  the  Baptismal  Office,  his  voice  was  clear, 
strong,  and  unfaltering.  It  was  a  very  solemn  scene. 


312     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

Every  one  present  was  affected  to  Jtars,  and  the  strong 
men  bowed  themselves. 

There  was  one  person,  not  in  that  room,  who  joined 
heart  and  soul  in  that  service.  Mary  knelt  in  her 
chamber,  and  prayed  to  Him  "  without  Avhom  nothing 
is  strong,  nothing  is  holy,"  that  Hamilton  might  have 
help  from  on  high  to  keep  those  solemn  vows. 


OR    MY    DUTY.  313 


Oil  APT  Ell    XLIY. 

"  His  lieart  was  open  a?  the  day, 
His  feelings  all  were  true.'' 

"  Earth's  purest  hope  was  o'er  him  flung 
To  point  his  upward  flight." 

THE  EVENING  succeeding  the  baptism,  the  fam- 
ily were  seated  around  the  pleasant  study-fire, 
enjoying  for  the  first  time  since  her  confinement  the 
company  of  Grace.  It  was  not  cold  enough  for  fur- 
nace-fires, and  the  happy  group  were  assembled  in 
the  study,  when  the  door  opened,  and  Dr.  Stephenson 
was  announced.  The  Doctor  had  followed  close  upon 
the  steps  of  the  servant,  and  was  in  the  room  almost  as 
soon,  as  the  announcement.  Mary  arose,  meaning  to 
glide  out  by  a  side-door,  but  a  look  from  her  father 
said  "  Stay,"  and  she  obeyed.  Dr.  Stephenson  went 
about  the  apartment  in  his  usual  free  and  easy  manner, 
shaking  hands  Avarmly  with  each  individual,  as  he  was 
27 


314  THE    RECTORY    OP    MORELAND : 

introduced.     When  he  came  to  Marjf  Mr.  Mar-hull  sim- 
ply said,  "  My  daughter." 

The  Doctor  started  back  with  real  surprise;  then, 
catching  both  her  hands  in  his,  "  Good  heavens,  Mary ! 
is  it  you  ? "  he  said,  as  he  drew  her  toward  the  light, 
and  looked  into  her  face  so  long  and  earnestly,  that  he 
brought  deep  blushes  to  her  cheeks.  "  This  is  too  good ! 
So  you  wouldn't  have  Hartley!  Poor  fellow!  In • '- 
more  worthy  of  you  now,  as  your  father  here  can  tell 
you.  But  you  '11  go  and  see  him  ?  Ah  !  I  forgot ;  that 
would  hardly  be  the  thing  —  but  —  I  '11  manage  it," 
he  said,  in  his  merry,  cheerful  tones,  so  familiar  i<» 
Mary's  ear. 

Mr.  Marshall  came  forward  at  that  moment,  to  re- 
lieve her  painful  position.  "My  son  here,"  he  said, 
turning  to  Arthur,  "  is  quite  confused.  He  cannot  think 
how  Mary  should  come  to  know  you  so  well,  when  you 
arc  almost  a  stranger  to  the  rest  of  us." 

"Mary,  dear  child!"  replied  the  Doctor,  wiping  his 
eyes,  "there  was  a  great  blank  when  she  left  Rocktown. 
But  I  have  come  to  consult  you,  gentlemen,  about  Hart- 
ley,—  Mr.  Hamilton.  My  wife  is  urgent  to  stay;  but 
Hartley  and  I  both  know  that  she  is  so  overpo \u-ix-d 


OB    MY    DUTY.  315 

with  her  feelings  that  she  would  be  just  good  for  noth- 
ing. We  had  a  consultation  on  his  case  this  afternoon. 
I  think  my  presence  was  of  some  service.  Knowing, 
as  I  do,  Hartley's  constitution,  I  can  judge  of  the  char- 
acter of  the  diagnosis." 

"  And  do  you  think  the  immediate  danger  is  past  ? " 
said  Mr.  Grey  inquiringly. 

"  Yes,  with  watching,  care,  and  good  nursing,  of  which 
he  must  have  the  very  best.  The  greatest  danger  to  be 
apprehended  is  from  imprudence.  He  is  an  imprudent, 
fellow  at  the  best.  Why,  before  he  left  Rocktown,  he 
was  out  all  weathers,  with  a  severe  cold,  walking  over  to 
Stoney  Brook,  to  church  and  Sunday-school ;  up  nights, 
lest  the  workmen  should  set  fire  to  the  HCAV  church  in 
Rocktown " 

Mary  exclaimed,  she  could  not  help  it,  "A  HCAV  church 
in  Rocktown  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  lie  said,  smiling,  and  then  looking  gi-aver  than 
he  had  done ;  "  that  was  the  only  ungratincd  wish  of  my 
Florence,  except,  perhaps,  one  other"  —  and  he  looked 
at  Mary,  while  his  benevolent  eyes  filled  with  tears. 
"  Hartley  has  never  ceased,  since  she  left  us,  to  strive 
for  the  completion  of  this  church,  and  now  it  is  finished. 


316    THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

But,"  he  added,  turning  to  Mr.  Marshall,  "you  spoke 
of  leaving  town.     Do  you  go  soon  ? " 

"  Probably  next  week ;  perhaps  not  till  the  latter  part 
of  the  week,"  replied  Mr.  Marshall. 

"Well,  gentlemen,  I  must  go  myself  to-morrow.  I 
ought  to  be  in  Rocktown  to-night ;  I  have  two  very  sick 
patients.  Hartley  has  an  excellent  nurse,  they  tell  me, 
and  I  think  it  will  be  best  for  all  of  us  if  I  carry  my 
wife  home  with  me ;  provided  you  will  keep  us  informed 
daily  by  telegraph  how  Hartley  is?  What  a  blessed 
thing  is  the  telegraph ! " 

The  clergymen  promised  to  comply  witli  Dr.  Stephen- 
son's  request,  and  he  rose  to  go.  But  he  could  not 
leave  without  once  more  taking  both  Mary's  hainl-  in 
his,  and  whispering,  as  he  bade  her  good  night,  "  He  's 
true  as  steel ;  he  has  hardly  looked  at  a  woman  since  you 
left  us." 

Mary  could  not  help  smiling  through  her  crimson 
blushes  at  this  characteristic  remark,  but  took  the  op- 
portunity to  retire  from  the  room  while  he  was  making 
his  adieus  to  the  rest  of  the  family. 

***** 

"Well  now,  father,  please  explain,"  sanl  (inter.  a>  .-In- 


OR    MY    DUTY.  317 

sat  on  a  footstool  at  her  father's  knee,  and  looked  into  his 
face.     "Mary  has  left,  to  give  you  the  opportunity." 

"  Well,  my  darling  Grace,"  he  said,  "  how  much  have 
you  gathered  from  the  events  of  the  evening  ? " 

"  I  have  only  learned  that  this  sick  young  man  is  a  re- 
jected lover  of  Mary's  during  her  sojourn  in  Rocktown." 

"  The  old  gentleman  seems  to  take  the  rejection  quite 
to  heart,"  said  Arthur. 

Minnie  rose  from  the  recess  where  she  had  been  sit- 
ting, and  stood  by  her  father,  resting  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

Mr.  Marshall  hesitated ;  lie  was  pondering  how  far  he 
had  a  right  to  say  anything  on  the  subject ;  then,  re- 
flecting that  they  already  knew  so  much  that  the  whole 
truth  might  have  a  good  effect,  he  placed  his  arm  about 
Minnie's  waist,  and,  earnestly  looking  at  the  two,  he  said, 
"  Can  either  of  my  daughters  think  why  Mr.  Hamilton 
was  rejected,  when  he  had  everything  the  world  can 
give,  —  fortune,  family,  high  position,  intellectual  and 
moral  worth  ?  " 

"  I  think,"  said  Grace,  dropping  her  head  modestly,  as 
if  afraid  to  venture  an  opinion,  "  he  was  not  quite  good 
enough  for  Mary." 

27* 


318     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

"  And  I  think,"  said  Minnie,  smiling,  "  she  would  not 
leave  us." 

"It  was  this,"  replied  Mr.  Marshall;  "he  did  not 
believe  the  articles  of  the  Christian  faith ;  and  though 
Mary  loved  him  very  dearly,  she  loved  her  duty  more." 

"  But  he  beh'eves  now,"  said  Grace,  the  smile  on  her 
face  shining  as  it  often  did  through  a  few  tears  that  had 
gathered  in  her  eye,  a  circumstance  from  which  Arthur 
had  long  ago  given  her  the  name  of  "  my  rainbow."  "  O 
how  I  wish  Mary  could  see  him  ! "  she  added  earnestly. 

Mr.  Marshall  went  the  next  afternoon  to  visit  the  sick 
man.  He  met  Dr.  Davis  in  the  hall  in  a  state  of  great 
excitement. 

"That  rattle-brained  doctor,"  he  said,  "I  am  afraid 
has  finished  my  patient  He  had  no  sleep,  the  nurse 
tells  me,  all  night.  Talk  of  prudence  !  careful  watching  ! 
and  then  come  and  inform  a  man  in  Mr.  Hamilton's  stale, 
and  in  the  old  man's  blunt  way,  that  some  lady-love  of 
his  has  turned  up  in  these  parts.  His  pulse  is  rapid  and 
his  fever  increased." 

"Perhaps  I  had  better  not  see  him  to-day,", said  Mr. 
Marshall ;  "  and  yet,  if  anything  can  calm  his  excitement, 
it  will  be  prayer." 


OR    MY    DUTY.  319 

Dr.  Davis  assented.  Mr.  Marshall  found  the  invalid 
propped  with  pillows,  his  face  flushed,  and  his  eye  bril- 
liant with  excited  feeling.  He  grasped  the  clergyman's 
hand  with  an  earnestness  quite  startling,  and  said,  "I 
have  been  trying  to  thank  God  for  .sending  you  to  me, 
but  there  seems  to  be  a  confusion  here,"  placing  his  hand 
on  his  head.  "  Can  I  hope  to  see  my  Mary  ?  —  Mary, 
whom  I  have  loved  so  long  and  faithfully,  and  whose 
character  appears  so  transcendently  pure  and  lovely,  now 
I  know  the  source  whence  she  derives  her  goodness. 
Tell  me  that  I  may  see  her  ! "  he  said,  eagerly  reaching 
towards  Mr.  Marshall. 

The  clergyman  quietly  took  both  the  hot  hands  of 
the  patient  in  his,  and,  stooping  over  him,  said,  in  a 
firm,  gentle  tone,  "  Wait  God's  time  ;  your  duty  now, 
my  son,  is  to  calm  yourself.  Any  excitement  or  agi- 
tation retards  your  recovery :  you  are  by  no  means 
out  of  danger."  He  hesitated ;  the  mild,  decided  tone 
had  its  effect;  and  he  added,  "Should  your  danger  in- 
crease, and  your  end  be  apparently  drawing  nigh,  I  think 
you  may  see  Mary ;  and  if  by  the  blessing  of  God  you 
are  restored  to  health,  you  may  meet  her  -when  you  will : 
more  than  this  I  cannot  say,  and  you  must  forbid  your- 


320  THE    RECTORY    OF    MOREL AND: 

self  talking,  and  as  much  as  possible  thinking,  on  thi^ 
subject."  This  was  the  best  course  that  could  have  been 
taken  with  the  young  man,  for  it  gave  him  enough  of 
hope  to  prevent  anxiety  preying  upon  his  spirits. 

He  was  calmed  and  soothed  by  the  conversation  and 
prayers,  and  Mr.  Marshall  left  him  in  a  much  more 
promising  condition  than  he  found  him.  His  visits  were 
repeat i-d  every  day.  .-ometime-  alone,  and  at  other  times 
in  company  with  Mr.  Grey.  Mr.  Hamilton's  recovery. 
although  steady,  was  very  slow,  and  when  Mr.  Marshall 
and  his  family  left  town,  he  could  sit  up  but  a  few  min- 
utes. The  sick  man  spoke  but  once  again  of  Mary,  and 
then  confessed  to  an  earnest,  restless  longing  to  see  her. 
Mr.  Marshall  simply  replied,  "  That  is  not  waiting  God's 
time." 

Mary's  heart  meanwhile  was  full ;  but  she  sought  no 
mortal  breast  to  still  its  throbbings.  Into  the  ear  of  her 
ever  listening  Friend  she  poured  the  tale  of  all  her  joys 
and  sorrows.  Every  member  of  the  family  strove  in  the 
best  way  to  soothe  and  comfort  her,  by  carefully  avoiding 
every  reference  to  the  peculiar  circumstances,  but  Arthur 
could  not  refrain  from  telling  her,  the  day  she  left  Phil- 
adelphia, "  How  sorry  I  am  you  are  not  to  be  an  old 
maid  !  " 


OR    MY    DUTY.  321 


CHAPTER    XLV. 

"  By  every  hope  that  cartlnvanl  clings, 
By  faith  that  mounts  on  eagle's  wings, 
By  dreams  that  make  night  shadows  bright, 
And  truths  that  turn  our  day  to  night : 
For  joy  or  grief,  for  hope  or  fear, 
For  all  hereafter  as  for  here, 
In  peace,  in  strife,  in  storm  or  shine, 
My  soul  is  wedded  unto  thine." 

MORELAND  NEVER  before  appeared  so  beau- 
tiful and  dear  to  Mr.  Marshall,  as  when  he  stood 
once  more  by  his  favorite  study  window.  Since  he  had 
been  Rector  of  St.  James's,  the  town  had  quadrupled  in 
numbers,  but  the  growth  had  been  on  the  other  side  of 
the  village,  —  the  church  and  Rectory  remained  in  quiet 
seclusion.  Nevertheless,  by  the  blessing  of  God  on  his 
faithful  labors,  his  congregation  had  increased,  in  propor- 
tion even  beyond  the  growth  of  the  town.  The  people 
of  his  parish  had,  during  his  absence,  thoroughly  repaired 
the  Rectory :  the  favorite  window  had  been  cut  down  to 


322    THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

the  floor,  so  that  one  could  walk  fron»*it  into  the  church- 
yard. The  trees  and  shrubs  had  grown  wonderfully  all 
about  the  place.  Slips  of  the  willow  that  Arthur  had 
planted  over  Jeanette's  grave  were  now  large  trees. 
The  clumps  of  maples  and  elms,  in  the  scattered  but 
brilliant  remnants  of  their  autumn  dress,  contrasted  gayly 
with  the  dark  foliage  of  the  firs  and  pines,  and  the  light 
delicate  tracery  of  the  deciduous  larch.  The  narrow 
mansions  were  many  in  that  sacred  spot ;  and  the  «rn\>  •* 
already  encroached  upon  the  thicket  of  pines  and  linn- 
locks  beyond  the  first  precincts  of  the  churchyard.  They 
dwelt  together  in  one  family,  the  inhabitants  of  that  pre- 
cious place  of  rest.  No  divisions  separated  the  <rra\v> 
of  the  rich  and  poor ;  and  although  families  rested  to- 
gether, there  were  no  aristocratic  iron  railings  to  part 
common  from  uncommon  dust. 

"This  place  is  very  dear  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Marshall, 
turning  to  Mary,  who  stood  by  his  side  watching  the 
golden  and  purple  clouds,  as  they  shed  a  brilliant  glow 
over  the  falling  leaves ;  "  I  don't  know  how  I  could 
leave  iu" 

Mary  sighed,  and  was  about  to  reply,  win  MI  Minnie 
entered,  looking  a  little  vexed,  although  a  smile  lurked 


OB    MY    DUTY.  323 

in  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  "  Father,"  said  she,  look- 
ing archly  at  Mary,  "  there  is  company  in  the  parlor,  — 
a  young  clergyman,  Mr.  Stanwood,  inquiring  for  Mary." 

It  was  Mary's  turn  now  to  look  vexed :  Mr.  Marshall 
also  was  annoyed.  It  was  Saturday  night,  and  this  per- 
severing young  man  would  probably  spend  Sunday  with 
him.  Mr.  Marshall  was  hospitable,  but  he  knew  the 
young  man's  errand,  and  could  hardly  give  him  Avith 
sincerity  the  warm  greeting  with  which  he  generally 
met  his  brethren  of  the  clergy.  Mary  was  half  resolved 
not  to  see  Mr.  Stanwood :  she  had  met  him  years  ago 

when  she  was  teacher  in  the  Seminary  at  H .  Even 

then,  his  condescending  kindness  was  not  agreeable  to 
her.  Within  the  past  year  he  had  offered  Mary  his 
hand.  She  had  tried  to  mingle  as  much  kindness  as 
possible  with  her  refusal ;  and  his  inordinate  self-conceit 
would  not  suffer  him  to  believe  that  her  decision  was 
final ;  therefore  he  had  come  again.  On  further  consid- 
eration, Mary  thought  it  would  be  very  awkward  for  her 
father  without  her,  and  Minnie,  she  knew,  would  hardly 
speak  to  him ;  therefore  she  entered  the  room  at  the 
time  of  the  evening  meal  with  ease  and  self-possession. 

But  Sunday  passed,  and  so  adroitly  was  the  affair  man- 


324     THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

aged,  and  that  without  any  apparent  >*>ntrivance,  that  Mr. 
Stanwood  was  not  once  left  alone  with  Mary.  Evening 
came,  and  Mr.  Marshall  took  him  to  a  third  service  in 
a  neighboring  district.  Mr.  Stanwood  was  getting  des- 
perate, and  during  the  ride  home  he  broached  the  subject 
by  saying,  "  I  have  come  here,  brother,  as  you  have 
probably  guessed,  to  make  one  more  effort  for  Mary's 
hand."  Mr.  Marshall  made  no  reply,  and  he  proceeded : 
"I  have  known  Mary  many  years;  I  met  her  first  wlirn 
she  was  with  Professor  Henshaw ;  I  saw  her  often  at  our 
musical  soirees,  though  of  course  she  moved  in  a  different 
circle  from  my  sisters."  If  Stanwood  could  have  seen 
the  expression  on  Mr.  Marshall's  face,  he  would  have 
paused  here.  "  I  met  her  often,"  he  repeated,  when  lie 
found  Mr.  Marsliall  said  nothing,  "and  own  her  quiet 
dignity  and  freedom  from  affectation  attracted  me  even 
then.  Five  years  after  I  saw  her  again,  as  the  sister  of 
Arthur  Grey.  He  was  on  his  bridal  tour,  and  spent  a 

few  days  at  II .     They  were  at  the  first  hotel  in  the 

city,  and  my  mother  and  sisters  called  on  Arthur  and  his 
bride.  I  need  a  wife,  indeed  I  do,  Brother  Marsliall, 
exceedingly,  and  have  never  met  with  any  one  who 
seems  every  way  so  fitted  for  the  companion  of  a  clergy- 


OB    MY    DUTY.  325 

man.  My  mother  is  prepared  to  receive  Maiy  as  my 
wife;  and  a  further  acquaintance  with  her,  I  am  per- 
suaded, will  bring  my  sisters  to  regard  her  with  affection. 
My  position  in  the  Church,  and  in  the  world,  are  well 
known  to  you  ;  and  I  hope  for  your  consent,  when  I 
shall  have  made  known  my  wishes  in  a  private  interview 
with  Mary,  which  I  trust  you  will  permit  me  after  our 
return.  I  could  say  more,  but  I  forbear." 

"  Insufferable  coxcomb  ! "  was  on  Mr.  Marshall's  lips, 
but  he  gave  no  utterance  to  the  indignant  expression. 
However,  he  put  an  end  to  the  young  man's  hopes  at 
once,  by  telling  him  in  a  cool  and  dignified  manner,  that 
any  attempt  for  a  private  interview  with  Mary  would 
only  be  attended  with  pain  to  both  parties,  as  her  mind 
on  that  subject  could  never  be  changed ;  that  he  would 
do  well  to  confer  the  honor  he  had  intended  for  Mary 
upon  some  other  individual ;  that  she  had  wished  to  re- 
gard him  as  a  friend,  but  could  not  look  upon  him  in 
that  light  unless  he  ceased  to  speak  to  her  of  any  nearer 
relation.  The  young  man  was  not  to  be  found  next 
morning :  he  had  left  in  the  early  train,  without  a  part- 
ing word,  affording  by  his  departure  great  relief  to  the 
family  at  the  Rectory. 

28 


fS26  THE    RECTORY    OF    MORELAND: 

Advent  season  was  drawing  to,^n  close,  indeed,  it 
wanted  only  two  days  of  Chri>tmas.  and  yet  the  weather 
was  unusually  mild.  Mary  and  Minnie  were  busily  en- 
gaged in  trimming  the  parlor  with  evergreens  for  the 
season.  They  were  making  a  wreath  of  princess-pine 
for  a  beautiful  engraving,  —  '•  We  praise  thee,  O  God  !" 
—  which  had  just  been  received  as  a  Christmas  present 
from  Grace  to  her  father.  The  girls  were  both  in  their 
neat  morning  dresses,  while  some  of  Mary's  curls  were 
loosed  from  the  comb  that  generally  held  them.  Minnie's 
usually  smooth  tresses  were  much  ruffled  by  the  exercise 
of  arranging  the  wreaths.  Branches  of  hemlock  and 
eedar,  twigs  of  laurel  and  ground-pine,  were  scattered 
over  a  large  cloth  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  pl:u-e<l 
there  that  the  refuse  branches  might  be  more  readily 
removed,  —  the  furniture  was  disarranged,  the  curtains 
were  unloopcd,  —  when  the  door-bell  rang.  Minnie  flew 
like  a  spirit  out  of  the  room,  while  Mary,  sati-tied  with 
the  idea  that  it  was  too  early  in  the  day  for  callers. 
except  to  the  study,  calmly  went  on  finishing  the  wreath 
she  had  commenced.  The  door  slowly  opened,  Marv 
raised  her  head,  and  the  wreath  dropped  from  her  hand. 
Faint  and  dizzy,  she  would  have  fallen,  but  Hartley 


OR    MY    DUTY.  327 

Hamilton  sprung  to  her  side  as  she  sunk  on  the  sofa 
near  by.  He  drew  her  to  him,  and  by  words  of  endear- 
ment soothed  the  strange  fluttering  of  her  heart,  and 
said,  in  those  low  musical  tones,  that  had  a  charm  in 
themselves  :  "  Mary,  are  you  not  mine,  —  mine,  whom 
in  the  solitude  of  my  own  heart  I  have  loved  for  ciirht 
long  years,  and  whom  I  now  regard  with  a  nearer  and 
tenderer  love,  since  I  look  upon  you  as  a  treasure  kept 
for  me  by  my  Heavenly  Father's  hand,  —  guarded, 
watched,  and  tended  for  me  by  the  Good  Shepherd,  till 
I  should  be,  not  more  worthy  Mary,  but  better  fitted  to 
keep  this  sacred  treasure  unspotted  from  the  world  ? " 
Mary  did  not  reply,  but  she  put  her  hand  in  his,  and 
looked  with  her  pure  and  truthful  eyes  into  his  face, 
with  that  sweet,  confiding  expression  that  said,  plainer 
than  words,  "I  am  yours."  Then  came  back  to  her 
heart  all  that  tide  of  emotion  that  she  had  striven  so 
long  and  so  earnestly  to  bury  down  deep  in  her  own 
bosom;  now  it  came  welling  up,  and  she  wept  tears  of 

joy- 
Hartley  suffered  her  to  weep ;  tears  even  dimmed  his 
own  eyes.      Then   followed   a   long,  unbroken  silence  ; 
they  were  enjoying  one  of  those  unalloyed  seasons  of 
delight  that  come  but  seldom  to  earth's  children. 


328    THE  RECTORY  OP  MORELAND: 

Mary  was  aroused  by  her  fatherVt  step  in  the  hall, 
and  she  whispered,  "  Let  us  go  to  my  father." 

"Our  father,"  said  Hartley. 

Mr.  Marshall  was  seated  in  his  favorite  window.  He 
did  not  notice  the  entrance  of  the  happy  pair  till  they 
came  quite  near. 

"  We  come  seeking  your  blessing,  father,"  said  Hart- 
ley. 

Mr.  Marshall  arose,  and  with  a  hand  on  each  head  as 
they  knelt  before  him,  said :  "  The  Lord  bless  you,  and 
keep  you.  The  Lord  make  his  face  to  shine  upon  you, 
and  be  gracious  unto  you.  The  Lord  lift  up  his  coun- 
tenance upon  you,  and  give  you  peace." 

It  was  long  past  midnight  before  the  two  gentlemen 
left  the  study  for  their  own  rooms.  Their  conversation 
had  been  deeply  interesting  to  both.  Mr.  Marshall  was 
delighted  to  find  how  truly  Mr.  Hamilton  appreciated 
his  beloved  daughter,  and  with  the  depth  and  purity  of 
his  affection  for  her ;  but  more  than  all  was  he  charmed 
with  the  single-hearted  earnestness  with  which  the  young 
man  spoke  of  his  future,  as  devoted  to  Christ  and  his 
Church. 

"To-morrow    will   be   my  first    communion,  dean-si," 


OR    MY    DUTY.  329 

said  Hartley,  as  he  stood  with  Mary,  at  sunset  on  Christ- 
mas eve,  by  her  mother's  grave ;  "  and  I  am  so  unworthy, 
and  perhaps  unprepared  ! " 

"Unworthy,  Hartley,  but  not  unprepared.  Who  is 
Vvorthy  ?  " 

"  I  know  it,  Mary ;  but  to  spend  all  '  the  dew  of  one's 
youth '  in  doubting  and  denying  this  precious  sacrament 
is  but  poor  preparation."  The  young  man  spoke  mourn- 
fully, and  leaned  on  the  headstone. 

"  Hartley,  dearest,"  said  Mary  soothingly,  "  do  not  dis- 
tress yourself  with  doubts.  Did  you  not  begin  a  new 
life  at  Baptism,  and  can  you  not  believe  that  all  your 
doubts  and  unbelief  are  washed  away  by  that  all-sufficient 
sacrifice  which  we  to-morrow  commemorate  ?  And  where 
can  we  find  grace  to  do  away  '  all  hardness  of  heart  and 
unbelief/  but  in  the  way  of  Christ's  appointing  ? " 

"  You  will  help  me,  Mary,  you  do  help  me,"  he  said 
tenderly ;  "  and  your  precious  father,  how  gently  he  led 
me  along,  and  how  lovingly  he  bade  me  welcome  to  the 
feast,  when  I  opened  my  doubts  to  him  last  evening ! 
One  seems  to  feel  secm*ed  and  sheltered  in  his  presence  ; 
and  what  must  it  be  to  live  under  the  same  roof?  It  will 
be  very  sad  to  separate  you  from  him." 
28* 


330     THE  RECTORY  OP  MORELAND: 

Mary  covered  her  face  with  her*  hands,  and  tears 
slowly  trickled  through  her  fingers.  "That,  and  leav- 
ing this  spot,  are  the  only  bitter  drops  hi  my  full  cup 
of  happiness." 

He  drew  her  to  a  seat  near  the  long,  drooping  boughs 
of  the  willow  next  Jeanette's  grave.  "It  does  seem 
nearer  heaven  here  —  does  n't  it,  Mary  ?  —  than  at 
Rocktown." 

He  spoke  somewhat  sadly,  but  she  replied  cheerfully. 
They  liud  mused  and  talked  a  long  time.  The  last  faint 
streaks  of  purple  and  orange  were  fading  from  the  west, 
when  they  heard  Minnie's  voice  as  she  came  toward 
them. 

"Papa  thinks  you  are  not  very  prudent,"  she  said, 
smiling  archly,  "  and  fears  you  have  forgotten  it  is  De- 
cember, instead  of  July,  and  that  Mr.  Hamilton  is  but 
recently  recovered  from  severe  illness." 

Mary  rose  in  haste.  She  feared  she  had  exposed 
Hartley's  health,  and  she  could  not  even  smile  when 
Minnie  whispered  to  her  of  old  Deacon  Barker,  who 
wrote  in  the  Bible  he  presented  to  his  fifth  wife  on  her 
wedding-day,  "You  have  made  this  December  happier 
than  any  May." 


OR    MY    DUTY.  331 

News  spread  in  Moreland  without  the  aid  of  tele- 
graph; and  by  Christmas  morn,  which  rose  bright  and 
cloudless,  there  were  but  few  women  in  the  parish  of 
St.  James  but  had  heard  of  the  very  handsome,  gentle- 
manly stranger,  who  had  inquired  the  way  from  the  hotel 
to  the  Rectory.  The  landlord  declared  he  was  "  every 
inch  a  gentleman,"  and  the  landlady  added,  "And  so 
pretty ! "  But  when  it  came  to  be  known  that  Mary 
was  the  object  of  his  visit,  the  surprise  of  the  gossips  was 
almost  boundless.  Miss  Maynard,  who  still  held  her  post 
as  the  village  dressmaker,  declared  herself  in  favor  of 
gratitude,  and  wondered  if  Mary  Evans  thought  of  mar- 
rying and  leaving  the  Eectory  without  a  housekeeper. 
She  always  thought  her  proud  and  "  stuck  up,"  but  she 
was  not  prepared  to  believe  that,  after  being  supported 
so  long,  she  would  leave  Mr.  Marshall  the  very  first 
opportunity.  But  her  cherished  doubts  were  scattered 
when  she  saw  Mary  and  Hartley  enter  church  together. 


332  THE    RECTORY    OF    MOliELAND: 


CHAPTER    XLVI. 

"  I  know,  I  know  no  place  below, 

Like  the  homo  I  fear  and  love ; 
Like  the  stilly  spot,  where  the  world  is  not, 

But  the  nest  of  the  Holy  Dove. 
For  there  he  broods  'mid  every  tree 

That  grows  at  Christinas  tide, 
And  there,  all  year,  o'er  the  font  so  clear, 

His  hovering  wings  abide!  " 

i.-i.v.  A.  c.  COM  . 

THE  CHRISTMAS  dinner,  arranged  under  the 
au.-l>iccs  of  Josephine,  and  eaten  at  Spring  Cot- 
tage, (which  the  united  taste  of  Dr.  Thurston  and  his 
devoted  wife  had  made  one  of  the  loveliest  dwellings 
in  Moreland,)  passed  off  much  to  the  satisfaction  of  all 
concerned.  Mr.  Hamilton  was  introduced  to  Mniv's 
friends,  and  Squire  Lee  (now  Judge  Lee)  discovered 
in  him  a  young  lawyer  whom  he  had  often  remark* •<! 
in  the  way  of  his  profession,  as  promising  great  things 
in  the  future  by  his  eloquence  as  an  advocate.  Judge 


OB    MY    DUTY.  333 

Lee  was  now  an  old  man,  much  broken  by  time  and 
trouble.  All  his  children  rested  in  the  shadow  of  the 
grave,  except  Ealph.  The  profession  of  a  soldier  led 
him  far  from  his  early  home ;  and  the  hearth  of  Mr. 
Lee  was  very  lonely.  Mary  had  ever  been  a  favorite 
with  the  Judge,  and  his  pleasantest  hours  in  these  days 
were  an  occasional  quiet  evening  at  the  Rectory.  Though 
he  rejoiced  in  her  pleasant  prospects,  he  was  saddened  by 
the  thought  of  losing  her  presence,  Avhich  was  always  to 
him  like  sunshine. 

Hartley  Hamilton  left  Moreland  after  the  holidays. 
He  had  besought  Mary  earnestly  to  be  his  wife  in  the 
course  of  a  few  weeks,  but  his  entreaties  were  unavail- 
ing, and  Easter  Tuesday  was  .the  earliest  day  she  would 
name. 

An  extract  from  one  of  Mr.  Hamilton's  letters  to 
Mr.  Marshall  during  the  winter,  may  give  us  an  idea 
of  his  train  of  thought.  After  the  usual  salutations,  he 
writes  :  — 

"  You  bid  me,  my  dear  sir,  consider  you  as  a  parent : 
that  privilege  is  very  dear  ;  —  not  only  to  think  of  you  as 
the  father  of  one  whose  gentle  influence  is  always  near 
me,  but  also  as  my  father  and  guide  in  matters  pertain- 


334    THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

ing  to  the  spiritual  life.  I  have  thought  much  of  your 
few  kind  words  about  ray  profession.  The  legal  profes- 
sion is  very  dear  to  me :  it  was  the  choice  of  my  boy- 
hood ;  but  I  will  confess,  that  sometimes,  when  I  stand 
j>l< Aiding  the  cause  of  my  client,  there  comes  a  voice  to 
me,  saying,  *  Might  you  not,  will  you  not,  plead  for 
Christ  and  his  Church  ? '  Did  I  believe  as  I  once  did, 
that  this  inner  light  is  the  sole  guide  of  the  human  soul, 
I  could  not  hesitate.  To  seek  the  priesthood  would  be 
for  me  to  renounce,  not  only  wealth  and  position,  but 
.what  to  me  is  far  dearer,  all  those  early  day-dreams  and 
associations  that  mingle  with  my  boyhood's  aims  and 
purposes." 

After  Mr.  Marshall's  reply,  he  again  writes  :  — 
u  Your  persuasions  are  very  powerful,  and  your  sug- 
gestions so  kind  and  fatherly,  I  know  not  how  to  thank 
you  as  I  ought.     Thoughts  of  my  unworthiness  to  occupy 
so  sacred  a  position  as  that  I  am  contemplating,  have 

driven  away  all  my  earlier  doubts.  .  I  was  in  A 

last  week  and  called  on  good  old  Bishop  X .     He 

spoke  very  warmly  of  you;  and  when  I  introduced  the 
subject  of  my  change  of  profession,  his  counsel  was 
almost  the  same  as  your  own.  In  parting,  he  spoke  so 


OK    MY    DUTY.  335 

tenderly  and  earnestly  of  the  toils  and  self-denial  that 
were  the  privilege  and  pleasure  of  every  true  minister 
of  Christ,  that  my  decision  was  made,  and  I  have  ven- 
tured to  look  forward  to  Holy  Orders. 

"  This  change  in  my  life  must  make  no  difference  in 
my  plans  for  Easter.  I  have  already  served  longer  than 
Jacob  ;  and  the  Lord  willing,  I  shall  pass  Good  Friday 
and  the  great,  glorious  festival  with  you,  and  claim 
my  bride  at  your  hand  on  Easter  Tuesday.  My  income 
will  be  sufficient  at  present  for  our  comfortable  support, 
and  this  change  may  possibly  not  remove  Mary  so  far 
from  all  her  early  friends. 

"  I  had  a  very  kind  note  from  Judge  Lee,  informing 
me  of  his  intention  to  retire  from  public  life,  and  urging 
me  to  establish  myself  as  a  lawyer  in  Moreland,  promis- 
ing me  his  influence,  &c.  This  was  very  kind  of  the  old 
gentleman  :  he  spoke  so  touchingly  of  dear  Mary,  that  I 
could  not  but  love  him,  and  told  him  confidentially  our 
plans. 

"  Mary  mentions  in  one  of  her  letters,  that  you  are 

spoken  of  for  the  Bishopric  of .  I  wish  you  could 

read  how  beautifully  she  writes  about  it.  Her  brave 
devotion  to  duty  is  an  ever-present  example  to  me,  sur- 


336     THE  RECTORY  OP  MORELAND: 

rounded  as  I  am  by  error  and  u..t>elief  in  its  most 
captivating  forms  and  associations.  The  Church  here 
grows  very  slowly,  as  I  remember  you  told  me  would 
be  the  case,  in  an  atmosphere  where  the  Divinity  of 
her  Lord  was  questioned.  Two  of  Mary's  pupils  re- 
ceived confirmation  at  the  last  visitation  of  the  Bishop, 
and  it  rejoices  me  to  add  that  my  sister,  Mrs.  Stephen- 
son,  is  looking  forward  to  the  same  holy  rite." 

The  winter  flew  rapidly  with  Mary.  Her  love,  deep, 
true,  and  earnest  as  it  was  for  Hartley,  was  not  allowed 
to  become  in  her  mind  all-absorbing.  The  poor  and 
sick  people  of  Moreland,  who  looked  to  her  for  many 
little  comforts  and  counsels,  were  faithfully  cared  for, 
and  her  household  and  social  duties  were  not  neglected. 
She  was  never  absent-minded  when  her  father  was  near, 
but  joined  in  his  plans  and  listened  to  his  counsels  as 
ever.  To  Minnie  she  was  a  very  tender  sister,  gradually 
bringing  her  to  have  tliat  care  for  her  father's  comfort 
that  had  hitherto  devolved  entirely  upon  herself. 

Early  in  March  they  learned,  by  a  letter  from  Arthur 
Grey,  that,  during  a  visit  to  a  sick  person  at  the  hospi- 
tal, he  had  been  confounded  by  a  meeting  with  Anthony 


OB    MY    DUTY.  337 

Maurice.  He  had  been  brought  there,  suffering  from  an 
attempt  upon  his  own  life,  which  in  the  end  proved  suc- 
cessful. He  died  "  as  the  fool  dieth,"  with  a  curse  upon 
his  lips.  The  remnants  of  his  property  Avere  divided 
between  Alice  and  Minnie  Marshall,  the  only  heirs. 

Mary  felt  that  Mr.  Hamilton  had  been  guided  by  the 
leadings  of  Providence  in  changing  his  profession ;  and 
though  it  left  the  place  of  their  residence  as  yet  uncer- 
tain, she  knew  that  to  be  with  lam  would  be  home.  But 
it  was  a  little  awkward,  when  inquisitive  people  would 
ask  where  she  was  to  live,  to  have  no  satisfactory  reply. 
Happy  was  she,  then,  as  she  clasped  her  father's  hand, 
and  thanked  him  for  planning  for  them:  and  such  a 
plan !  It  was  too  blissful,  she  said. 

After  the  wedding,  they  were  to  go  to  Kocktown,  to 
visit  Hartley's  friends,  and  return  at  their  leisure  to 
Moreland,  where  Mr.  Hamilton  was  to  pursue  his  pre- 
paratory studies  with  Mr.  Marshall.  They  had  in  con- 
templation an  incipient  call  to  Rocktown,  which  had 
been  suggested  by  his  friends  there,  as  the  ultimatum 
of  their  wishes,  when  he  should  have  prepared  for  ordi- 
, nation;  but  for  the  present  they  were  to  remain  at  the 
beloved,  precious  Eectory. 
29 


338    THE  RECTORY  OF  MORELAND: 

Thus  were  frustrated  all  Miss  Maynard's  roseate  pros- 
pects :  she  had  already  designed  to  have  herself  named 
to  Mr.  Marshall  as  a  fitting  housekeeper,  trusting  to  the 
future  to  mature  her  plans.  But 

"  The  best-laid  schemes  o'  mice  and  men 
Gang  aft  a-gley." 

The  last  week  of  Lent  brought  Hartley  to  Moreland. 
The  tint  of  health  glowed  on  his  cheek,  and  an  expres- 
sion of  rest  and  peace  were  daily  deepening  on  his 
brow. 

They  knelt  together,  that  happy  pair,  on  Easter  morn- 
ing, to  celebrate  His  death  who  had  risen  airain  ;  and 
they  arose  refreshed  with  the  same  grace,  trusting  to 
the  same  promises,  looking  for  the  same  end.  The 
flowers  were  lovely  on  that  altar  during  Easter-tide, 
when  Hartley  and  Mary  made  those  vows  that  were  to 
bind  them  "  till  death  do  part." 

Rev.  Mr.  Marshall's  manner  was  very  touching 
throughout  the  marriage  service  ;  but  it  was  affect- 
ing even  to  tears  when,  they  kneeling,  and  he  with 
arms  spread  over  them,  his  white  robes  reminding  one 
of  the  wings  of  an  angel,  pronounced  the  proper  bene- 
diction :  — 


OB    MY    DUTY.  339 

«  God  the  Father,  God  the  Son,  God  the  Holy  Ghost, 
bless,  preserve,  and  keep  you :  the  Lord  mercifully  with 
his  favor  look  upon  you,  and  fill  you  with  all  spiritual 
benediction  and  grace,  that  ye  may  so  live  together  in 
this  life  that  in  the  world  to  come  ye  may  have  life 
everlasting.  Amen." 


. 


